


Oatmeal Cookies

by Monti_B_Lewis



Series: Cookie Jar [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drugs, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Journalist!Lance, Love, M/M, Modern Era, Pining, Popstar!Keith, Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stalker!Lance, Substance Abuse, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-07-16 05:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16079282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monti_B_Lewis/pseuds/Monti_B_Lewis
Summary: Lance had always hated Keith.He had hated him in kindergarten when he would mysteriously reach for the exact toys Lance wanted before he had a chance to get his hands on them himself.He had hated him in elementary school when Keith completely dashed his hopes of becoming a pro soccer player by completely wiping the floor with him in just about every match they played in P.E.He had hated him in middle school when Keith became the school's heartthrob and effectively cock-blocked just about every other guy in that damn school.He had especially hated him when in high school Keith's simple little guitar covers of popular songs suddenly went viral, after which he was cast by some big network as the lead for a new TV show and then overnight turned into the entire nation's heartthrob.–––––Keith is a huge pop-star and Lance hates it, so he breaks into Keith's mansion to get dirt on him. Makes sense, right?





	1. Verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't know Steven Yeun has actually done those 4:3 aspect ratio guitar covers on YouTube before I started writing this.

Lance had always hated Keith.

He had hated him in kindergarten when he would mysteriously reach for the exact toys Lance wanted only seconds before he had a chance to get his hands on them himself.

He had hated him in elementary school when Keith completely dashed his hopes of becoming a pro soccer player by completely wiping the floor with him in just about every match they played in P.E., whether he was on his team or the opposing one.

He had hated him in middle school when Keith became the school's heartthrob and effectively cock-blocked just about every other guy in that damn school.

He had especially hated him when in high school Keith's simple little guitar covers of popular songs suddenly went viral, after which he was cast by some big network as the lead for a new TV show and then overnight turned into the entire nation's heartthrob.

Now, in college, Lance couldn't go a day without the media talking about Keith's new song or Keith's new model girlfriend or Keith's oh so brave decision to leave his big multi-million dollar network deal to pursue a more independent career – as if he hadn't just switched to another multi-million dollar deal with a different money-grubbing company. Even after so many years of knowing the guy, Lance still didn't understand his appeal. He didn't understand why little preteen girls would gather in front of whatever hotel he was in to scream at his window whenever so much as a shadow showed up in it. And he especially didn't understand how Keith's music was so successful, despite being the most run-of-the-mill, mass-produced mainstream pop garbage that no one wanted; except his hoards and hoards of prepubescent fans, of course. Lance didn't even have to see him in person to know that Keith had only gotten even more stuck up and arrogant over the years. Keith rarely gave interviews and when he did – once in a blue moon – they were always incredibly mechanical and painfully scripted. Sometimes he would simply not respond to questions at all. By the looks of it, there was never an authentic moment to be had with him. He was infamously hard to work with, quick to anger and difficult to manage. Not to mention the long list of scandals he had gotten himself into just over the past year or so. Despite all his obvious shortcomings, his fans would defend him to no end, saying he was simply being rebellious and lashing out due to stress. Keith could probably strangle a small puppy on live TV and his fans would still find ways to excuse it.

And so it was with great distaste that Lance found himself at one of Keith's concerts. Surrounded by countless herds of children unironically calling Keith "Daddy", he began questioning every single decision he had made in life to have ended up with this fate. Glancing down at his phone, he found both his best friends absolutely spamming their little group chat with dumb edits of Keith. Pastel Keith, flower crown Keith, goth Keith, it was all in there. "How do they keep finding this stuff?" he mumbled to himself in exasperation, wondering whether any of the original creators of the edits were currently in the vicinity so he could drop-kick them. Fresh out of preschool or not, them and their witchy Photoshop skills needed to die.

Suddenly, his phone began buzzing. "Hey, Hunk," Lance flatly greeted his friend. "And you, Pidge, I can hear you smirking in the background. Stop." He received a muffled giggle in response, confirming that Pidge had, in fact, been smirking. "So what's up?"

 _"How's that article of yours going?"_ Hunk asked with mirth in his voice.

"I've already come up with about six equally clickbaity headlines like _'10 Things I Hated About Keith's Concert'_ or _'450 Ways Keith Got On My Nerves Today'._ "

_"Haven't you already posted at least twelve of those to your blog?"_

"Shut up." Lance hated how much both his friends loved teasing him about his extreme dislike for the pop-star. They absolutely _revelled_ in how long he could rant about the guy, growing more and more irate the longer he went on. "Did you just call me to tease me?"

 _"Pretty much,"_ Pidge replied nonchalantly. _"After all, it's the first time you're actually getting paid to write an article about Keith."_

"I hate both of you." Frowning, Lance abruptly hung up, but still got to hear Pidge's cackling.

As much as his friends teased him, Lance took a lot of pride in his writing. At the very least, he was good enough for a gossip magazine to let him write an article for their online site. Apparently, due to booking issues, they had no other choice but to fall back on the freelance college journalist that sometimes submitted small articles to their site. All that really told Lance was that they didn't like Keith much either. And seeing how the magazine had barely given him two sentences about what to even write, he figured they didn't care much as long as it was vaguely about Keith's concert.

After standing in line for what felt like hours, people finally began moving once the doors swung open. Immediately, a cacophony of excited chatter kicked off, making Lance's mood plummet even further. He didn't rush, not at all eager to get himself a good place to stand. But despite his lack of effort, Lance found himself in a relatively acceptable place in the end. Not only was he tall, but he also wasn't a preteen girl, so he towered over just about every other person around him. The stage was perfectly visible, even from this distance. Surrounding him was nothing but noise and with a small groan, Lance came to the realisation that the dull throbbing in his skull would probably only get worse rather than better. The low music drifting out of distant speakers seemed to only amplify his building headache, the extreme levels of excitement all around him only serving to drain him of all energy.

Overall, he felt like shit simply standing here.

At some point, Lance managed to zone out with his eyes focused on the large monitors above the stage, the same colourful graphics flashing across them over and over again. After that didn't help pass the time anymore, he began texting Pidge and Hunk, who only continued bombarding him with more Keith-related photos and videos. If only they could actually be here with him to be annoying like that in person. Then he could at least pass this off as friends ironically going to a Keith concert, forever cementing the experience as a silly little anecdote to tell at parties. But like this, he was simply a college guy surrounded by an army of middle schoolers who were all foaming at the mouth for some scrawny little boy with anger issues. Nothing Lance necessarily wanted to brag about. Ever.

Lance jumped in surprise when a deep rumble suddenly shook his body, the lights slowly dimming, causing the screams of young girls to reach deafening levels. Hands clamped over his ears, he immediately regretted not bringing ear plugs. He stood like that for quite a while, before the music finally indicated some sort of countdown. The lights drifted towards the centre of the stage, focusing on one spot.

Suddenly, Keith along with an entire group of people came flying out of the floor, landing perfectly on the stage as the entire stadium burst out into hysterics. Horrified, Lance watched little girls completely dissolve into crying, screaming messes, legs shaking and knees buckling. But somehow, as much as he wanted to say this entire thing was leaving him unaffected, he had to admit that his heart rate was picking up slightly at such a dramatic opening. He had seen that exact kind of entrance dozens and dozens of times over the years, on concert DVDs and internet videos, but actually seeing it in person was an entirely different thing. It almost seemed less real than it did on video.

Meanwhile, Keith was already kicking off the first song, his backup dancers making his dancing seem all the more impressive and dramatic. Lance watched with a frown as Keith was displayed on large monitors from several angles, cameras regularly zooming into his seemingly flawless face and effectively raising the volume of screaming. Lance's initial awe quickly dissipated at having so many tiny sharp elbows and shoulders excitedly jabbing him in the sides, even some small hands smacking him out of nowhere. Surely, he would come out of this absolutely littered in bruises. Luckily, he soon became completely indifferent to little girls constantly bumping into him in their excitement. Growing up with younger nieces and nephews had already trained him to be endlessly patient.

Things continued like that for a while. With each new song the stadium erupted into hysteria anew, while Keith looked more and more sweaty and flushed as things progressed. His backup dancers would change, but he continued on, belting out song after song almost endlessly. The breaks in between each song were almost non-existent. It got to a level that it made Lance wonder whether the guy was actually human. He had known of Keith's monstrous stamina ever since primary school when the guy easily outdid everyone in long distance and relay races. Lance would know because he always got second. And while he had always been close to dying after each competition of any kind, Keith had always looked completely unbothered, as though he hadn't even moved at all.

When one of the cameras suddenly zoomed in on Keith's face, close enough you could see every single pore in his ridiculously smooth skin, Lance with a start noticed the faint scar running through his left eyebrow. He vaguely remembered getting into a fist fight with Keith over a lost soccer match in elementary school, a fight that they had both left bleeding and bruised; in particular the wound on Keith's face had required stitches and had lasted for weeks. Lance had expected his parents to then get into a huge argument with Keith's parents, seeing how that was how it usually went with incidents like that. But nothing of the sort ever happened. That was when he had found out that Keith lived with foster parents who only ever kept him for a few months before passing him over to someone else. It was difficult enough to raise well-behaved foster children, not to mention ones with impulsive and aggressive tendencies like Keith. Or at least that was what he had overheard some teachers saying at the time.

Lance was stirred from his daydreaming when the stage suddenly dimmed completely, before a spotlight shone on a lone Keith sitting on a stool with an acoustic guitar. Quietly groaning to himself, Lance glanced around to find the rest of the audience already swooning and gushing, furiously taking photos and recording every second of this spectacle. His eyes wandered back to the stage as Keith strummed his first chords, his smooth voice soon mingling with the soothing melody of his guitar. Despite his better judgement, Lance ended up oddly transfixed by the sight, unable to take his eyes off of Keith. This was the first song to feel genuine and not like a fabricated, hollow money-printing tune. Almost as though in a trance, Lance found himself taking in every single word that came out of Keith's mouth like it was some sort spell. Despite the song's calm tune, it was oddly electrifying to hear belted out through an enormous sound system, physically vibrating through Lance's body. Something about it was mesmerising and he couldn't quite decide what. Whether it was the volume of the audience having quieted down considerably, or Keith and the way he looked completely content where he was in that very moment, or something else entirely, he couldn't tell. All Lance knew was that he was suddenly glad to be here, happy to be able to witness this.

And before Lance knew it, the song was over and Keith opened his eyes to direct piercing eyes at his audience. When the screaming instantly kicked off again, Lance could almost see something unreadable swirl in those dark eyes, something that pulled you into unknown depths the longer you looked, before Keith abruptly jumped up to prepare for the next song. The set of backup dancers that then surrounded him was almost completely different from the people that had danced with him in the beginning. Lance unknowingly shook his head slightly at the implications of that. If even professional backup dancers couldn't keep up with Keith's pace, then what did that make _him_?

From there, Lance found himself watching intently as Keith performed song after song, sometimes using the breaks in between to speak to his audience. Lance couldn't hear a word he was saying over all the screaming and he doubted Keith could either. Any exchanges between him and his audience were short-lived, any kind of meaningful conversation impossible. And yet Keith still tried, somehow shambling together some sort of conversation each time. Lance had seen articles about this kind of thing happening, but seeing it in person was somewhat disheartening. Despite that, Keith never showed any signs of being frustrated or annoyed.

Now hyper-focused on what was happening on stage, Lance found himself with his eyes glued to Keith, ears completely filtering out any sound besides his singing. It was completely involuntarily and when he realised he was doing it, Lance tried to snap himself out of it. He couldn't quite put a finger on what made Keith so enrapturing, what caused his attention to be so inevitably drawn to him. It was some sort of odd mix between awe and curiosity. Seeing the occasional smirk or brief happy smile flash across Keith's face, Lance couldn't help but wonder what happened backstage. How much of what Keith was displaying in front of the dozens of cameras – pointed at him from all sides every single day of his life – was actually him? It made Lance want to peel back the layers of facade and image management to see who Keith truly was. Over the years he had read countless interviews all claiming vastly different things. Industry peers called Keith both hardworking and invested in his music, others called him arrogant and childish. His friends were devoted and loyal, while his enemies maintained a burning dislike for him. His most vocal fans could, in a split second, shift from showering him with love and adoration to absolutely hounding him or people close to him with the most vile things anyone could say to another human being.

The moment that completely turned things around for Lance came towards the end of the concert, when the backup dancers disappeared and left Keith to begin wrapping things up by himself. He was in his encore, the very last song coming to an end, Keith then wandering around to interact with some fans over the heads of the security guards lining the area around the stage. Lance wasn't all that interested in Keith's little talk segments, so he began drifting off again, wondering when he could finally leave and even attempt to process this experience. At least until he heard something that made his perception shift completely and all his senses hone in on what Keith was saying, intent on catching every minute detail of what was unfolding.

" _Ti voglio bene_."

Three simple words and Lance's mind blanked out completely. Keith's exhausted, husky voice replayed over and over in his head, making him feel as though they were still echoing through the stadium. He didn't even know what the hell Keith was saying, all he knew was that he needed to hear more of it.

"That's about all I remember," Keith chuckled, somewhat sheepishly running his hand through his sweat-slicked hair. "What next?" As expected, he immediately received an almost indistinguishable mess of screamed answers. "Spanish? Uh…"

Suddenly, Lance was incredibly impressed at Keith's ability to actually pick out any words from this barrage of chaotic screaming.

"I was in Cuba a couple weeks ago," Keith continued, readjusting his little earpiece as he continued strolling around. "There's one thing… _Estas hecho un mango._ Did I say that right?" His question almost couldn't be heard over the renewed screaming. "Is it _mango_ or _mangon_?"

This was when Lance could feel his entire body suddenly go hot, heart thumping wildly in his chest. Something about hearing Keith speak his native language so fluidly absolutely stole his breath and made his stomach do weird somersaults. It wasn't simply Keith repeating something someone had said to him in order to shallowly appeal to a certain group of fans. He had clearly, at some point, put effort into learning how to pronounce it correctly and make it sound as genuine as possible. It was such a small thing and would probably get completely lost in the greater context of this entire concert, but to Lance it was something that completely turned his view of Keith upside down, whether he wanted to or not.

Watching Keith go through phrases in several other languages, Lance slowly came to the realisation that there was no way back from this. He suddenly understood on a very intimate level what Keith's appeal was. He understood why all these preteen girls fawned over him so much, he understood why Keith's music fascinated so many people and he understood why his fans defended him so vehemently.

It was because his fans loved him and Keith loved them back. 

* * *

Fat drops of rain smacked against the window as Lance lounged on his saggy living room couch, lazily watching Hunk tinker with his broken laptop. "Think you can fix it?" he asked his friend, resignation already heavy in his voice.

"Um…" Hunk was trying his best, really, but it seemed like a lost cause. "I mean… usually spilling any liquid over your laptop is a death sentence, but I might be able to salvage at least the hard drive. Pidge probably knows what to do, you know. I'm not as big of a computer expert."

"God no," Lance immediately spat. "If that gremlin finds out I dropped an entire latte on my laptop, I'll never hear the end of it." Lance almost fell off the couch in surprise when the door suddenly smacked open and Pidge stormed in, hair wet and tousled – seemingly from running through the rain.

"Who are you?"

"What?" Lance replied quietly, dumbfounded at Pidge's intense expression. He then watched as Pidge stomped towards him to point an accusing finger at him, lit up phone in the other hand.

"Did the magazine censor you or something?" Pidge yelled, eyes heated. "Is this really an article you wrote?"

Slowly, it dawned on Lance. "Oh, the Keith one?" When Pidge nodded furiously, he sunk slightly lower into his ratty couch and shrugged. "I wrote all of that, word for word. No edits by the magazine. Any problem with what I wrote?"

"Just the fact that you didn't passive-aggressively make fun of Keith's mullet even _once_! That was the only good thing about your articles!" 

With Pidge so up in arms over Lance's article, Hunk suddenly seemed intrigued and pulled out his phone to see for himself. "Why didn't you tell me that they published it?" he murmured quietly, already scanning over said article.

Shrugging again, Lance opted to stare out of the window and watch as rain fell from an increasingly dark sky. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?!" Pidge screeched in disbelief. "You made it sound like you _enjoyed_ his concert in this, Lance! What? Did someone pay you off? Who even are you? What happened at that concert?"

Before Lance could further brush it off, Hunk spoke up. "Yeah, um… Pidge is right, Lance. Ever since that concert last week, you haven't ranted about Keith even once. Do you feel okay? Did any fans attack you or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Lance sighed, finally tearing his eyes away from the rain and sitting up straight. "As if anyone would even care about some random dude with a blog. I just…I guess I realised that I really don't know Keith and that it's useless constantly complaining about what he does." Ever since Keith's concert, Lance had been weirdly out of it. A big chunk of his life had consisted of making fun of Keith and shitting on just about everything he did. Not having that anymore left him feeling… empty.

"So no more overly sardonic rant pieces about how overrated Keith is?" Pidge questioned with a tinge of sadness. "But those always brightened my day! Don't you know that I feed off of your completely pointless and unwarranted anger towards a celebrity you'll never ever meet in real life and who couldn't give a flying fuck what you think?"

Lance responded with a deadpan look, badly suppressing the frustrated frown that wanted to form on his face. "I'm aware." To his horror, Pidge's sneaky gremlin eyes then snapped to the remains of his laptop laid out in front of Hunk on the floor.

"Is that–"

"Shut up, Pidge," Lance immediately snapped, shooting an absolutely scathing glare at his friend.

"Dumbass." Pidge chuckled mirthfully, sporting a knowing look. "I told you you shouldn't eat breakfast while–"

"I knoooooow, shut up already!" He continued glaring and could only watch with growing frustration as Pidge's mocking grin only widened.

"Want me to fix it?"

Eyes narrowing, Lance didn't immediately reply, instead turning his head away to angrily stare at a wall. "Yeah." He did desperately need that laptop, seeing how he couldn't afford simply buying a new one. Out of the corner of his eyes, he then saw Pidge quietly walking up to Hunk, before crouching down in front of him to inspect the disassembled laptop.

Despite how annoying they could both be, especially when together, Lance was glad to have the two as friends. He probably would have aged about ten extra years without anyone to complain to about Keith all this time.

* * *

 "Um… Lance?"

Barely registering the nervous tone of Hunk's voice, too busy scoping out the area, Lance continued on his search for a possible entrance. At least one that didn't require him to pole-vault over this fence. "Hmm?" he absent-mindedly hummed back.

Hunk gulped, hesitantly following after his friend. "You sure you wanna do this? This is really illegal."

"It's only illegal if we get caught," Lance immediately shot back. "Right, Pidge?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's illegal either way." Pidge's eyes were tirelessly zipping around the property, or at least the tiny bit that was visible through the high fences and rows of bushes. "Just keep looking for a sticker or sign that tells us what type of security system is installed here."

"Why are we here?" Hunk then asked, visibly anxious.

In response, Lance cackled evilly, a smirk widening on his face as he eyed the endlessly high fence surrounding the enormous mansion. "To get some dirt on Keith."

"I thought you were over that!"

Pouting now, Lance steadfastly continued on his way. "I can never get over acquiring blackmail material on Keith."

Suddenly exhausted, Hunk dragged his hands over his face. "So you're trying to ruin his career?"

Lance didn't immediately reply, lost in thought for a moment. "No… I just…" Trailing off, he buried his hands in his pockets. "Look, I just want some confirmation that he's not this enigmatic music genius that everyone thinks he is. I'll just go in, find some shit, get out and then I can go on with my life knowing that I have Keith's greatest weakness in my hands."

It took Hunk a while to even come up with a possible response, eyes wide with astonishment. "What are you even trying to find?"

"Dunno… his… freaky fetish porn stash or something? His creepy doll collection?"

Hunk replied with an absolutely exasperated look, a drawn out sigh leaving him. "The second I hear police sirens, I'm gone." His eyes then wandered to his other, hopefully more sane friend. "Pidge, why are _you_ doing this?"

"Because I'm a rebellious teen," Pidge dead-panned.

Hunk had to resist the urge to face-palm. "You know, usually teen rebellion involves going out past your curfew or breaking windows, not _hacking into a celebrity's security system so you can break into their house_!"

"Ah hah!" Just then, Pidge's eyes fell on a small blue sign stuck in the lush green lawn behind the fence. Reading what was written on the sign, Pidge suddenly let out a near villainous laugh. "Jackpot."

"What is?" Lance immediately questioned, trying to make sense of whatever had Pidge so excited. "GDS…" he read out loud, scratching his head. "Is that the security system?"

Pidge was already sitting on the ground with a laptop, typing furiously. "Yup. Wireless without any encryption. Knowing the maker helps narrow down the frequency I can use to jam the entire system so it doesn't trigger. No cameras, no motion sensors, no alarms."

Hunk then leaned down to watch what Pidge was doing. "Don't these systems have anti-jamming features?"

Immediately, an amused little chuckle left Pidge. "You just need to turn the jamming off for a second or two and then turn it back on to bypass the anti-jam protection."

"Wait, seriously?"

"It's totally genius, right?"

Not quite understanding anything that was happening, Lance simply watched as Pidge gleefully continued typing. "So what if security people see us?"

"This is a public sidewalk," Pidge immediately clarified. "We have every right to be here."

"We're _loitering_ ," Hunk cut in. "So they can totally get us to leave. Worst of all, they can sick the police on us."

Grinning, Lance clapped Hunk on the back in a comforting manner. "Don't worry, if they try, I'll just talk us out of trouble."

Hunk shot another flat look at his friend, not appearing reassured at all. "I'm surprised you haven't gotten arrested yet. No, actually I'm _not_ surprised about _any_ of this. All this honestly just feels like another Saturday afternoon with you two."

Before Lance could continue sweet-talking Hunk, Pidge interrupted him. "System is jammed now. Get in quickly and don't stay for too long."

Giving Pidge a mock salute, Lance took a few steps back, breathed in deeply, then dashed and jumped at the tall fence. Slightly impressed, both Pidge and Hunk watched him swiftly climb up the fence and then land on the other side somewhat clumsily, before immediately rushing over the lawn.

"So Keith is really not home?" Hunk asked, sighing as Lance slowly disappeared in between bushes and trees.

Pidge simply shrugged. "Should be. Can't be sure." Arms crossed, Pidge then lazily leaned back against the fence. "How much you wanna bet Lance finally gets arrested?"

Releasing a pained groan, Hunk could only shake his head.

* * *

"Cancel it."

_"Keith, this meeting is import–"_

"No, listen to me, Shiro! You don't get it!" Dragging a hand over his tired eyes, Keith let himself fall onto his pristine snow-white couch. "The last time we worked with those guys, they told us it was just a simple shoot for swimwear, but then showed up with nothing but underwear, remember! I'm not going through that bullshit again! Whatever they're offering, just reject it!" When he was met with nothing but pregnant silence, he rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable lecture.

_"No matter the final decision, you still need to show up. These are industry professionals and if they–"_

"I don't care what they are! They're scumbags!"

_"Keith–!"_

"I'm hanging up." Even when he pressed the button to end the call, he could still hear Shiro berating him. Keith felt bad treating his oldest friend and manager this way, but he had his boundaries. He knew he was probably being a brat, but the thought of having to deal with those two-faced, scheming executives again made his stomach turn. And so he slid down further into his couch, rubbing at his tired eyes until they hurt.

With only a week until his next cycle of what felt like daily concerts, he couldn't quite find it in himself to truly relax. It took him three days to even just recover and feel normal again. And the day before he would go back on tour, he would probably get pulled into countless checkups, practices and organisational meetings. So technically, he only had two or three days where he could truly relax and simply hang out. Today was one such day. And he was bored out of his mind.

Keith began lazily scrolling through his list of contacts, not quite finding anyone he really wanted to talk to. He was on somewhat friendly terms with quite a few people, having formed friendly but shallow relationships in the entertainment and music industry over the years, but he didn't exactly have anyone he would call a true friend – except for Shiro, who also happened to be his manager. It was on days like this that he wished they could go back to simply being friends aiming for the same goal, sharing a dream. After the accident that had damaged Shiro's body forever, becoming a musician had seemed pointless to Keith. Why even try if he was going to end up doing it alone? But when the chance had actually presented itself, it was Shiro who had ultimately pushed him to make that first step. In the end, Keith was thankful; he loved his job and he loved making music. But as always, it made him wonder if it was really worth losing Shiro over. Was it worth his best friend practically throwing his life away simply to support him?

His musings were abruptly cut short when Keith heard a rattling sound that startled him into sitting up straight. The sound had come from his window and glancing into the direction the noise had come from, he froze.

There was a guy in his window. There was a guy in the middle of breaking into his house, just hovering in his window, halfway into his living room, staring back at him with almost just as much shock as him.

"Oops," the guy said, smiling awkwardly.

Jaw dropped and eyebrows drawn together into a confused frown, it took Keith a while to find his voice again. "How the fuck did you get in?"

Eyes shifting around nervously, the guy lingered exactly where he was. "The window."

"Did security let you in?" Keith barked, tense fingers digging into his couch. "Why?"

The guy suddenly smirked. "I'm a charming guy."

Incredulous, all Keith could do was stare back in shock. "What about the security system?! How did you know the fucking password?"

"I have my ways."

Keith was close to tearing out his own hair now, realising that he wasn't going to ever get a straight answer out of this guy. "Who are you?"

"Really, dude?"

Now, Keith wasn't entirely sure what to make of the almost offended look on the guy's face. He was motioning at himself and pointing at his own face with increasing intensity as though Keith was supposed to somehow magically know who he was. And when Keith didn't respond and simply continued staring in confusion, the guy let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

"We went to kindergarten together," he grumbled. "And elementary school. And middle school. And high school."

No matter how much he rifled through his memories, this guy's face just didn't seem familiar at all. For all Keith knew, he was just some delusional stalker. Fearful that any sudden movement could somehow set the guy off, Keith remained sitting on the couch, heart wildly pumping in his chest.

"Lance?" the guy then said, motioning at his own face again. "You punched out one of my milk teeth in elementary school when I smeared finger-paint in your hair?"

"How am I supposed to remember something from that long ago?"

A frustrated sigh left Lance, before he slipped and finally fell out of the window and squarely landed in Keith's living room. Groaning to himself in pain, he slowly picked himself off of the polished wooden floor. "You broke two of my fingers in soccer practice," he then grumbled as he straightened out his slightly dishevelled clothes, sending a disgruntled look at the other. "My pinky is still crooked!" He then held up his left hand, showing off that yes, his pinky was indeed slightly bent inwards.

Keith could only shake his head, drawing an absolute blank. "I really don't know what you're talking about." Despite himself, he was beginning to settle down, subconsciously coming to the conclusion that this guy, Lance, probably wasn't dangerous. He could easily take him in a fight.

Meanwhile, Lance had clapped both his hands over his face and was quietly groaning in frustration. "Okay…" he murmured, slowly breathing out. "Hunk was right. This was a bad idea."

Hearing the name, Keith perked up. "Hunk?" he mumbled, vague flashes of memories passing through his mind. "Oh, I remember Hunk."

The words seemed to make Lance just absolutely short-circuit, leaving him unable to form words for quite a while. "You remember Hunk but not _me_?" he screeched. "How?!"

Keith shrugged and finally allowed himself to relax slightly. "He gave me a cookie in third grade." When Lance continued staring back at him in disbelief, Keith couldn't help but grow defensive, a frown instantly forming on his face. "It was good!"

Slowly, shaking his head, Lance raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever," he mumbled. Suddenly, his eyes began scanning the entire room, obvious awe entering his gaze as he eyed the enormous LCD embedded in one wall, as well as the elaborate sound system surrounding it. A cherry-red piano sat in one corner of the room, while an entire row of guitars lined one of the black walls. "You really live here by yourself?"

Not having expected that kind of question, Keith at first didn't know how to answer and simply nodded. He was still in shock over the whole situation, not quite able to even begin to decide what he should do.

"Aren't you going back on tour again soon? Why are you spending your free time just sitting in your multi-million dollar mansion by yourself?"

The question puzzled Keith, making him cock his head at Lance. "You know about my tour schedule?" Considering Lance seemed to be harbouring an impressive amount of dislike for him, it was surprising that he knew he was on break.

For the first time, Lance was speechless, standing there with his mouth open but no words coming out. Eventually, he snapped his mouth shut and a slight pout took over is face. "I'm supposed to write more articles about you. Of course I know."

Suddenly, things clicked into place for Keith and his body went somewhat slack in resignation. "Oh… so you're just here for a story." A curt, humourless laugh passed his lips, before he abruptly got off his couch to properly face Lance. But before he could get another word in, Lance was already cutting him off.

"Wait, you think I'm some stalker journalist who breaks into celebrity houses for stories?"

"You aren't?" Keith shot back flatly, smirking with quite a bit of satisfaction when Lance immediately looked incredibly offended.

"No, I just…" Lance was speechless again, struggling to find words. After all, he _was_ breaking into Keith's house at this very moment.

Crossing his arms, Keith already had his phone in hand, ready to send off the text that would immediately send security flying in. "Why else are you here then, huh?"

Matching Keith's anger now, Lance looked equally miffed. "I guess I was just… curious?"

Narrowing his eyes and shaking his head, Keith then glanced at his phone and sighed. "I'm calling security."

Almost instantly, Lance panicked. "No, no, no, no, wait, I'll leave! I'll be gone in a second, okay! Just don't call anyone!"

Watching the other already backing away towards the still open window, Keith rolled his eyes. "Ten seconds. And I better not see anything about this in the press tomorrow morning. Remember that I know your name and face now."

"Alright, thanks, bye!" Lance called over his shoulder as he quite literally jumped out of the window.

Left behind was Keith, who could only stare at his open window wondering if he was so stressed and exhausted that he was hallucinating now. There was no way that had just happened. If not, then he had just had an actual conversation with an insane stalker journalist who somehow knew how to bypass every measure meant to keep people like him out of his house. It wasn't the first time someone had broken in trying to get to Keith, but it certainly was the most memorable.

"I need to get a guard dog."

* * *

 Keith awoke the next morning with a splitting headache, the sunlight piercing his eyes and coaxing a groan out of him the second he opened them. He rolled to the other side of his king-sized bed in an attempt to go back to sleep, but soon found that it was no use. He was awake and there wasn't much he could do about it. Being friends with literal rockstars who would drop by unannounced to party through the night was undeniably amazing, but also inevitably lead to killer hangovers. And fun as it was, it left Keith having to deal with the aftermath in the morning. He could wait for the maid to clean it up, but she only dropped by every other day, which would mean living in this mess until she did. And so Keith dressed, skipped breakfast and then began the long process of trying to somehow make his house liveable again, all while being hungover. The trash bags of garbage quickly grew to impressive sizes, the amount of hand towels he had to use staggering. He was sweating by the time the process was nearing its end.

Just like the day before, Keith jumped slightly hearing a commotion in his living room. Garbage still in hand, he quietly made his way there, intent on whacking any possible intruder with the heavy bag. Pressing himself to the wall next to the living room doorway, he waited to hear any other indication that someone was actually breaking in, already suspecting who it might be.

A loud crash then came from the room, followed by a whispered "Ah, shit".

Already rolling his eyes, Keith dropped the garbage bag and entered his living room with heavy steps. "Lance, what the fuck are you doing here?"

Like a deer in headlights, Lance froze where he was sitting on the floor and silently stared back at Keith for a moment. "Uh… trying to apologise for yesterday?"

"By breaking into my house _again_?"

Smiling nervously, Lance then held up some sort of small plastic bag. "I brought cookies!" 

Exhausted after a good hour of cleaning and general tidying up, Keith simply sighed heavily and let himself fall onto his couch. Despite there being an actual intruder in his house, he couldn't even muster up the energy to get angry. Additionally, whether he wanted to or not, Lance did invoke an odd feeling of nostalgia deep inside him, some sort of familiarity that made him _want_ to trust him.

"Hey, uh… I'm actually really sorry," Lance suddenly began, standing up and immediately shifting around awkwardly. "I honestly didn't mean to get some kinda scoop on you. I'm just a freelance college journalist anyway. No one would care even if I did write something sensational. They would just pass it off as me trying to bolster my own name."

Already half asleep on the couch, Keith watched the many emotions flashing across Lance's face. He shrugged, unable to really decide how he should feel about all this. "I haven't seen any headlines about what happened, so I guess I believe you."

For a moment, Lance stood in the middle of the room, looking unsure about what to do. But then he suddenly dropped his bag to the floor again and shuffled through it, before pulling out a large blue book. "Just to prove I'm not a crazy person…" He flipped open the book, quickly sifting through the pages until he arrived at whatever he had been searching for, "I brought a yearbook."

Keith didn't even move when Lance suddenly held the book in front of his face. He simply narrowed his eyes as he struggled to get his sight to focus on the pages, headache quickly creeping back at the action. Eventually, he was able to get a look at the yearbook and found rows and rows of photos of elementary school children, none of which looked even remotely familiar to him. At least until he found his own face. And right next to it, Lance's, who was wearing a beyond goofy smile, one of his front teeth missing. "Huh," he mumbled in a mix of astonishment and resignation. "I guess you weren't lying."

"See!" Lance immediately exclaimed, pushing the yearbook even closer towards Keith. "I'm not a crazy stalker!"

Hearing Lance yelling like that, Keith's headache suddenly came back full force, making him groan in pain.

"You okay?" Lance asked, voice much quieter, instinctively coming closer to inspect Keith. "You look like shit."

And that just about eliminated Keith's theory that Lance belonged to the delusional, crazy in love stalker category. "Just hungover."

Lance lingered for a moment, watching Keith silently. "You know, I make a pretty mean Bloody Mary. I always make some when I have a bad hangover."

"You want to feed me _more_ alcohol?" Keith grumbled, sending a tired, annoyed look at the other.

"I mean… yeah? It's a pretty common hangover cure." Seeing the doubtful look on Keith's face, Lance shrugged. "I can just not add any vodka."

Somehow Keith managed to sink even further into his couch. His only response was a dismissive wave of his hand, skull still pounding with pain as he watched Lance run off. A moment later, he could hear him walking all over the place in search for the kitchen. Keith had the impulse to use this chance to sick security on the guy, but found himself unable to find Lance threatening enough to warrant that sort of action. Keith would stay cautious, for now, but so far Lance seemed harmless. And at the very least, his presence took his mind off of this pounding headache.

"Do you have any hot sauce?" he then heard Lance yell from the kitchen.

Rubbing over his aching eyes, Keith struggled to string together any coherent thought. "Fridge?" There was some shuffling and clinking, followed by a triumphant "Found it!", causing Keith to finally focus on what was happening. With some effort he opened his eyes and peered into the hallway leading to his kitchen, before sitting up and stretching slightly. Dizziness immediately swam through his head, muddling his thoughts and knocking him off balance. He nearly fell over and could only chuckle humourlessly at the way his stomach churned.

Suddenly, Lance came rushing into the living room, a glass full of some sort of blood-red mystery concoction in hand. "Had to replace some ingredients you don't have, but it should taste pretty okay," he explained as he handed Keith the drink.

Eyeing the drink suspiciously, Keith didn't immediately take a sip. After all, he was _still_ slightly suspicious of Lance. "So why are you here again?"

Suddenly annoyed, Lance immediately pouted. "I told you, I just…" A small sigh then left him as he crossed his arms. "I got chewed out for breaking into your house. Hunk ended up ranting at me all day afterwards. It's kinda messed up and stuff, so… sorry. I guess."

Entirely unimpressed by the apology, Keith hesitantly sniffed at the still untouched drink in his hand. "So you live with Hunk?"

Lance nodded, eyes wandering off to stare out of the floor length windows. "Neither of us can afford an apartment of our own. Our dorm rooms are kinda shitty, but at least the neighbourhood is decent, you know." Lance then finally seemed to notice Keith's hesitation in actually drinking. "If you're not drinking that, I'll drink it."

Seeing Lance already reaching for the drink, Keith instinctively pulled it out of his reach. "'S fine," he mumbled, before pointedly taking a small sip. Immediately, he could feel his throat soaking up the moisture like a dry sponge. The thick liquid smoothly trickled down his throat and, luckily, didn't seem to upset his stomach further in any way. "It's okay," he murmured, taking another sip.

Lance rolled his eyes, but didn't respond. He continued watching Keith drink silently, expression neutral. But before long, his attention ended up drawn to the many things scattered around Keith's living room. He seemed especially drawn to his cherry-red piano sitting at the other side of the room, eyes eventually wandering to the small collection of retro game cartridges stashed on a wall-mounted shelf.

Eventually, Keith reached the bottom of the glass. He would never tell Lance this, but he did genuinely feel better already. Something about the odd mix of tomato juice, hot sauce and horseradish made him feel refreshed and energised. He then made to set the empty glass down on his couch table, but somehow completely missed the edge. Already inwardly sighing, he waited for the inevitable sound of the glass shattering. In the exact moment Keith mentally gave up on the glass, Lance however, on some sort of instinct, reached out for it in an attempt to catch it. Somehow that made the sound of the glass shattering on the floor a lot more disconcerting.

Along with the sharp sound of the glass breaking into hundreds of little pieces, Lance let out a quiet noise of pain, quickly retreating his hand. "Shit," he hissed.

Suddenly wide awake, Keith tensed up watching a distressed Lance trying to keep in the chain of expletives that wanted to fall from his mouth. "You're bleeding," he murmured, almost too quiet for the other to hear.

"Huh… wha–" Lance finally took a closer look at his palm, at last noticing the blood already pooling in his hand "Oh…" He clamped his other hand over the wound, looking desperate to stop his own blood from dripping down and tainting Keith's expensive-looking carpet. "Sorry about that. You got any bandaids? I'll get out of your face once I patch myself up."

"Um…" Keith was at a loss for a moment, eyes locked on Lance's bloody hands. "Wait here," he mumbled, before hastily getting to his feet. In his hungover haze, he stumbled slightly on his way out and with all the adrenaline now rushing through his system, immediately forgot all about the nausea and exhaustion. Suddenly antsy, he made his way to his bathroom and tore open drawer after drawer, cupboard upon cupboard, before cheering to himself triumphantly when he finally found bandaids. Recalling just how much Lance had been bleeding, he ended up also picking up a pack of fresh bandages and a towel, before hastily making his way back to the living room.

Meanwhile, Lance sat there, utterly shocked at the amount of things Keith was dumping in front of him. "Oh…" When Keith dunked the fluffy towel in a glass of water and then thrust it at him, he seemed hesitant to take it. "That looks like a really expensive towel. Wait, does that have your initials stitched in?"

"Just take it," Keith groaned, forcing the pristine white towel into the other's hands. He then watched a frown of concentration forming on Lance's face when he began cleaning the wound on his own hand with practiced movements. Lance seemed oddly skilled at dressing his own wound, swiftly covering it in a large bandaid after a while and loosely wrapping bandages around it to keep it in place. "Do you get hurt a lot?"

Taken aback by the question, almost as though he had forgotten Keith was even there, Lance didn't answer immediately. "Nah, I just have little nieces and nephews. When I still lived at home, I had to put cartoon bandaids on scrapes almost daily." In that moment, Lance tied off his bandages, snipped them, then eyed his own handiwork. He seemed satisfied, because he then stood up and made to leave. "Sorry about that. I promised I'd get out of your face, so I'm leaving. So… bye? I guess…"

At a loss for words, Keith watched him already heading to the window, a pit suddenly opening in his stomach. "Lance…"

Face neutral, Lance swirled back around to send a questioning look at the pop-star. "What's up?"

Keith wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to do, his mouth suddenly going off on its own. "Um… if you have time… do you wanna maybe hang out… for a bit? Or something?"

"Uh…" Lance was completely dumbfounded for a moment, eyes narrowing into a suspicious glare, before lightening up into something more friendly. "I mean… sure? Why not? I guess…" He then awkwardly made his way back to where Keith was still sitting on the couch and simply stood next to it. By the looks of it, he wasn't sure if he was even allowed to sit on the couch. Clearly, he was intimidated by anything that looked even remotely expensive.

"It's just a couch," Keith grumbled. "Sit."

"Yes, Sir," Lance immediately replied, stiffly sitting down next to Keith. It took him a moment, but eventually he relaxed enough to lean back and actually enjoy the softness of the cushions. He seemed to remember something all of a sudden, which made him pull out his phone and type out some kind of message. "Oh, right!" He then suddenly perked up and leaned down to rummage around in the bag he had brought along. A moment later, he fished out the little bag of cookies; it was tied up with a small black bow. "Hunk made these," he explained with a small smile. "Said I should bring them as an apology."

Still slightly dazed from being so hungover, Keith watched Lance open the bag and then let him place one of the golden-brown cookies in his hands. "I probably can't eat these," he then said, eyeing the cookie longingly. "I have a nut allergy."

"Oh, I know," Lance immediately dead-panned. "They're nut-free."

Hangover daze lifting again somewhat, Keith abruptly straightened up. "Wait, how do you know that?"

Biting into a cookie of his own, Lance stared back at Keith flatly. "Cause I'm allergic to nuts too and we used to fight over the last nut-free oatmeal cookies in kindergarten."

Eyes narrowing as he blankly stared into space, Keith tried recalling if such a thing had ever happened. But just as before, he came up with nothing.

"You don't remember," Lance sighed without looking at the other. He seemed to notice Keith shaking his head out of the corner of his eyes, because he then sighed again and let himself sink even further into the couch. "You're cruel, man."

"Sorry… I guess." Seeing how comfortable Lance was, Keith slowly leaned back as well. He found himself somewhat startled at how incredibly comfortable this couch was. Until now he had never actually just let himself lean into it like this, enough to really feel how soft and bouncy it was.

After downing another two or so cookies, Lance suddenly sat up and eyed the living room again, finding the large garbage bags still sitting near the door. "Who did you even party with to warrant this much destruction?"

"Marmoras."

Lance went completely still at the answer, as though his brain had simply stopped working for a moment. "Wait, Marmoras as in the best band in the world _The Marmoras_?!"

Slightly stunned at the awe-struck reaction, Keith slowly sat up as well and was able to fully take in the sheer amazement in Lance's shimmering eyes. "I… guess, yeah."

"No way!" Shaking his head, Lance suddenly jumped up from the couch to tower over a still confused Keith. "I've been a fan of them since I was old enough to buy CDs!"

This was the first time Lance seemed to truly look at Keith as an actual celebrity. That it took being friends with his favourite band was slightly upsetting, but somehow it made Keith feel slightly elated nonetheless. "I used to be a huge fan of them too. Back in middle school."

Shoulders sagging slightly, Lance's expression fell and was replaced by confusion. "Used to?"

"Things like that change a little when you actually get to know the people behind it," Keith explained, gaze wandering off to the framed band posters hanging on his wall, many of them signed. "Now they're… guys I'm friends with who also make music I love."

Lance took in the words and slowly began nodding to himself, suddenly deep in thought. His train of thought was interrupted though by the sudden buzzing of Keith's phone.

"Oh, goddammit," Keith cursed under his breath, suddenly aggressively unlocking his phone and typing out a message to someone. "It's my social media manager. I still need to upload a fucking selfie." 

Meanwhile, Lance watched as Keith, after a moment of looking down-right murderous, schooled his expression into something a lot more neutral, before quite nonchalantly taking a selfie. It was a bit of an odd sight, seeing how Keith really didn't seem like a huge social media guy. "Why do you use social media if you hate it so much?"

"I'd love to just delete all of it, but I'm contractually obligated to post at least three selfies and one video a week."

Lance's lips froze around the cookie in his hand as he blankly stared at Keith, trying to decipher whether his absolutely neutral expression was genuine or not. "You're joking, right?"

"I wish I was," Keith murmured moodily, already at work haphazardly cropping the photo and putting filters on it and whatnot. "Do you use anything?"

"Nah, not really." Lance shrugged, hand already reaching out to grab another cookie, but ultimately retreating when he remembered that they were supposed to be a gift for Keith. Resisting Hunk's creations was honestly torture. "My social media's pretty lowkey. I only really have work-related profiles. I'm usually too busy to constantly take pictures of stuff or think of something witty to tweet."

"Yeah, I tried arguing like that, but then they smacked me with this stupid contract." Keith continued fiddling with the photo, but generally seemed uninterested in truly making something out of it. "I honestly have no idea what kinda hellhole our legal team was pulled from." The words made Lance chuckle, prompting Keith to shoot him a surprised look, before a small smile began curling his lips as well.

To Lance it was the first time that he felt like he was truly connecting with Keith, like they were finally hanging out. Slowly, he was beginning to realise just how silly it had been of him to so blindly dislike Keith for so long. There was still so much he didn't understand about him, but at least when simply talking to him like this, he seemed like a totally regular person, someone Lance could imagine walking past on campus or sitting next to by chance during a lecture.

"How's your hand doing?" Keith suddenly asked, now downing a cookie as well.

Finally remembering the big gash in his palm, Lance lifted his hand and eyed it, carefully turning it around. "Now that you're asking… it kinda really hurts." Every little movement caused a stinging hot pain that shot through his entire forearm. Perhaps the wound was deeper than he had originally thought.

"Hold on." With that, Keith jumped from the couch on still slightly wobbly legs and rushed away.

Lance was left behind to awkwardly stare into the hallway Keith had disappeared into, giving him a chance to once again examine the room a bit further. Although it couldn't even be called a _room_ , since it was closer to a whole loft in size. A large stairway lead up to another floor and from the creamy white ceiling hung a chandelier that was so bizarrely beautiful, Lance was sure it was some kind of expensive designer piece; the kind non-famous people would only ever get to see in photos on some fancy art blogging website.

"I have three different kinds of painkillers," Keith suddenly said, marching into the room with a look of utter concentration as he read the tiny text on the pill bottles in his hands. "I think two of these are prescription though, so…" Shrugging, he carelessly discarded two of the bottles on a table, then sat down next to Lance again. "Here."

Slightly overwhelmed by how surprisingly caring Keith was, Lance silently accepted the pills and the glass of water he was handed. He felt slightly odd having Keith watching him so intently as he swallowed one of the pills, causing him to look anywhere but the literal pop-star.

"You know, I think I might remember you after all," Keith then mumbled thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. "Was that you who broke his leg jumping into a hot tub in tenth grade?"

Lance lapsed into a stunned silence, bewildered eyes staring into Keith's totally oblivious ones. "How do you remember _that_ , but not the almost endless amount of literal battles we've had over the dumbest shit? We were rivals for _years_!"

Keith stared back at the other listlessly for a moment, before shrugging and taking another bite of his cookie. "My memory's bad. Sorry."

There wasn't really much Lance could say to that. If Keith had a shit brain, was it really his fault? _Yes_ , he decided. _Yes it is._ "Then you probably also conveniently forgot the time I destroyed you in basketball."

"You mean the _one_ time you did," Keith immediately cut in with a developing frown.

Lance almost jumped off the couch at the words. "So you _do_ remember me!"

"I didn't say that." Keith's quiet voice trailed off as he turned away to continue munching on his cookie.

Suspiciously narrowing his eyes at Keith, Lance decided right then and there that he would _make_ Keith remember him. If that meant using force, then so be it. "Just you wait."

Keith turned around with curious eyes when he heard the quiet mumble. "Did you say something?"

"Just that your mullet looks worse up close." Lance had to suppress a chuckle at how quickly Keith's neutral expression morphed into an annoyed frown. "Do you even know that you started a fucking epidemic? Every time I step on campus these days I see at least one hipster with a greasy fucking _mullet_ like it's some kind of retro fashion statement. And it's your fault."

"You're welcome."

Noting the cocky smirk hiding beneath that nonchalant mask, Lance fought down the irritation that wanted to surface on his face. "Trends die, dude. I'm giving you another year or so before people get really sick of mullets and demand you cut your hair."

"People have been demanding that since I debuted," Keith replied casually. "Nothing new."

This was beginning to genuinely pique Lance's interest. The signature mullet was turning out to be another puzzle piece in the mysterious picture that was Keith. "And you still keep it?" 

Shrugging yet again, Keith briefly stared off at some faraway point on his high ceiling, before meeting Lance's eyes again. "I don't see a reason to change it. If I change myself only because people tell me to, I'll probably feel like I'm losing myself."

Lance simply hummed sagely in return, his own gaze drifting off as well. He, in fact, had never seen Keith with a regular person haircut. His hair had always either been way too long and messy or in a mullet. A mullet was probably the closest he would ever get to a haircut. "I guess a mullet suits you," he eventually said, eyeing the charcoal locks curling around Keith's neck. "It's messy and sloppy."

"Then I guess you breaking into my house _twice_ says a lot about what kind of journalist you wanna be."

A gasp left Lance at the words, hand coming up to his chest dramatically. "How dare you!"

"You started it."

Begrudgingly deciding to drop it – because, for once, Keith was actually right –, Lance huffily settled back into the couch and shoved another cookie in his mouth. But not without murmuring a muffled "Dickhead" under his breath.

 _This_ felt familiar. Lance still remembered all the squabbles and arguments he had had with Keith. At least from the time before their worlds gradually grew further and further apart. In kindergarten, Lance had felt as though he knew everything about Keith and the other children in his group, but with each year and each graduation, Keith had grown more and more out of reach. Soon, Lance wasn't the only one getting into fights with Keith. It almost became a weekly spectacle, Keith brawling with someone over something or other. It was rare that he didn't have a bruise or cut from a fight somewhere on his body. Lance could see them in the changing room during P.E. classes and it made him hesitant to start anything with Keith, but certainly did not stop him. At least until he saw the genuine hate and anger in Keith's eyes. Feeling that kind of burning, relentless thing directed at him had made Lance subconsciously back off on his own, made him only watch Keith from a distance. In hindsight, he knew he probably could have approached Keith differently, but even now he had no idea how to even talk to him without insulting him.

"You wanna play a game?" Keith suddenly asked, snapping Lance out of his thoughts. "If your hand's okay, I mean."

A little stunned, Lance stared at Keith for a moment, suddenly remembering where he was. "Uh… sure? I think I can play something simple. Didn't you used to hate video games?"

Keith was already getting off the couch and approaching his shelf of retro games. On his way, he shrugged, back turned to Lance as he answered. "The only reason I didn't like them was because I couldn't have them. I never had money for them and no one ever bought me any."

"Oh…" Lance simply mumbled, unsure how to reply. With any other person, he would have said something to express pity or sympathy, but Keith didn't seem like he would respond positively to something like that. And so Lance simply stayed silent and watched Keith going through his collection, taking his time picking a game. Now that he had time to actually look at the quite elaborate shelf, Lance noticed something about the collection of games. He was no video game expert, but he knew enough to at least be able to tell the rough time period of a game. Although some of the games were quite old, from a time before either him or Keith had even been born, a huge chunk of them were from a time when Lance and Keith had been children.

Keith finally reached for a game that looked old, but not downright ancient. It seemed vaguely familiar, like something Lance may have played at a friend's house in elementary school before. While Keith put the game into a console below the TV, Lance simply watched him moving around. Even off stage Keith had a certain allure to him. Lance knew no other way to describe the way he moved other than that it was efficient and mesmerising. Keith was the opposite of clumsy. Every shift of his limbs and tilt of his weight was deliberate, no energy spent on unnecessary movement. It made him seem light yet powerful. Like you could throw him into a fight with a guy three times his size and he would still knock him on his ass in mere seconds. Something about that thought caused Lance's gut to feel oddly heavy. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

When Keith finally returned, he dropped onto the couch right next to Lance and handed him a second controller. "What're we playing?" Lance asked him, slightly distracted having Keith suddenly so close to him again.

"You'll see."

Pouting to himself at the dismissive and vague answer, Lance sent a little sideways glare at Keith. He expected him to have picked out some kind of fighting or racing game, something where they would compete, with one ultimately throwing his controller in frustration. But to his surprise, the game turned out to be some kind of shoot 'em up with spaceships where they both had to work together to take down enemy ships. A lot of it was Keith telling a clueless Lance what to do, until he got a hang of the game and was able to somewhat keep up with Keith and not die every other second.

Once Lance felt more comfortable with the game, he immediately began bantering with Keith again, who was not at all shy in rising to his every taunt and tease. In time their interactions became more and more fun for Lance, who absolutely revelled in riling Keith up to a point where he would mess up in the game and die. Each time, Lance couldn't help but relentlessly gloat about it, only to die as well soon after. Quite some time passed like that, enough that the sun began going down, dipping the room in a soft, warm light. Soon, Lance began noticing Keith's movements becoming sluggish, his ship in the game being destroyed by enemy ships more and more. Glancing sideways, Lance sometimes caught his head dropping slowly, before snapping up again. The dark bags under his eyes were suddenly incredibly apparent.

"Tired?" Lance asked him, not taking his eyes off the game and for once not teasing Keith when he died yet again.

"Hmmnh…" was all Keith replied, too out of it at this point to even realise he had died again. He was beginning to sway a little from side to side, looking just about ready to drop and sleep right then and there.

Smiling to himself, Lance silently turned the game off and got off the couch. He saw Keith looking up at him quizzically, eyes bloodshot and blinking incessantly, his eyebrows set in a tired frown. "Come on," Lance simply mumbled, nudging Keith a little and motioning for him to lie down, which he eventually did. The second he was lying flat on the couch, he seemed to immediately fall asleep. Looking around the room, Lance eventually found a thin blanket that he was somewhat haphazardly threw over Keith. Now at a bit of a loss for what to do, Lance listlessly stood in the middle of the room. He couldn't just leave without a word, but he also couldn't stay any longer; he already felt awkward and creepy for literally watching Keith sleep. And so he decided to simply leave a note, which kicked off his long search for a pen and some paper. It took a lot of rummaging through drawers and shelves until he finally found what he needed and was able to write out a quick message explaining why he was leaving. On a bit of a whim, he also added his phone number. Even if nothing came out of it, he would probably feel odd just up and disappearing without any means to contact him. He had handed over his number to people for far less than playing video games with them for an entire afternoon after all.

He left the note on the small table near where Keith was sleeping soundly. For a split second, Lance had the impulse to touch Keith's hair. It looked incredibly messy and downright unkempt, but something about it made him want to brush his fingers through it. Just a little. Shaking his head at the thought, Lance then made his way back to the window he had come through. He wasn't entirely sure what would happen if he tried breaking _out_ of the house, but figured he had to leave one way or another. He only hoped Keith didn't have a guard dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Can you believe I was trying to write a one shot? Yeah, nice try, me. 
> 
> I'm not sure when I'll upload the next chapter, but I'll try to have it done and up in two weeks or so. If you have any questions or things you want to say, please leave a comment or message me on my tumblr ([monti-b-lewis.tumblr.com](http://monti-b-lewis.tumblr.com)). I don't really post much, but I do reply to asks!


	2. Refrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reupload from Sunday because of some issues with AO3

By the time Lance had emptied the contents of his bag for the third time, he was certain of it: he had lost his house key. That meant he couldn't get into his apartment, which he was now slumping down in front of with a defeated sigh. Both Hunk and Pidge were being good little students and doing TA things for their professors, meaning his roommate – the only other person with a key – wouldn't be here until evening. Barely having had any lectures that day, Lance had the rest of the day to himself and had been planning on simply lazing around on the couch with some cheesy reality shows and a bag of chips. But alas, the universe apparently had different plans for him.

After much sighing and groaning did not magically unlock his door, Lance headed out into the chilly spring weather to find some place to hang out until Hunk got home. A breeze blew across his face, the cold slithering throughout his thin clothes and causing shivers to run through his body. It didn't help that he could feel sleep trying to whisk him away, even as he was walking down the busy street. Figuring he wouldn't need much sleep for such a short day at college, the previous night he had worked on three articles for that gossip site that had to be out by morning. He knew he was slaving away for a ridiculous amount of pay, but he was thankful for even that little bit of money. Knowing he would have an insane amount of debt to pay off after college, he was already desperately trying to save every bit of money he could; even though Hunk and him were just barely managing. Lance knew his family would help him out if he just asked, but he didn't want to worry them. Hunk was in much the same boat. Although in Lance's case pride was probably also a factor.

With a sigh, Lance strolled past stores and restaurants, eyes scanning for something small and cozy where he wouldn't have to pay for anything to stay a while. Seeing how close this area was to his college, most places demanded some kind of compensation for providing a place with free wifi. And so even after a lot of searching, Lance couldn't find any place other than a pharmacy to stay at, prompting him to let out a frustrated huff. He tried once again to call Hunk to see if he could come home sooner, but his phone was still off. Lance admired Hunk for being so diligent, but in some situations it really sucked to have such an upright, rule-abiding roommate. Soon, Lance slowly stopped in his tracks, hopelessly glancing around yet again and finding absolutely nothing. He briefly considered calling up other friends and as he mentally sifted through his options – discarding most almost as quickly as they came up for various reasons – one name continued popping into the back of his mind, forcing itself to the forefront of his thoughts.

Keith.

It had been weeks since that odd hangout. Admittedly, it had been fun, but Lance hadn't expected to meet Keith again. Ever. Even though they had eventually exchanged contact information, that hangout had seemed like a one time thing, a mere whim on Keith's part. There was no way the guy had time for him. Keith was in the middle of a tour, with the next round of concerts about to kick off again. But before Lance could ponder over it much longer, his finger was already hovering over Keith's name in his contacts, some of the letters distorted and warped by the huge crack across his phone's display. "Might as well try," he mumbled to himself, finger finally pressing down. Immediately, Lance could feel a burning nervousness coursing through his body, like little rivers of fire rushing through his veins. Having hung out with Keith that one time didn't change the fact that the guy was a huge celebrity. Calling someone like that for something this minuscule was a bit ridiculous, wasn't it?

 _"What?"_

"Uh…" Gulping, Lance's mind went totally blank for a second. "It's me. Lance."

 _"I know,"_ Keith replied curtly, tone not giving away any particular emotion. _"What is it?"_

"Well…" To be frank, Lance hadn't expected him to actually pick up. And so fast as well. They hadn't spoken since that day he had broken into Keith's house. He had almost expected an assistant of some kind to pick up instead. "I um… I locked myself out and my roommate he uh… he won't be back till pretty late, so I was wondering… you know…" When Keith didn't give any indication that he knew what he was implying, Lance had to take a deep breath, steel his nerves and swallow some of his pride. Especially with the cold so mercilessly trying to freeze him to death. "Can I come over?"

 _"Uh…"_ Keith went silent for a while, seemingly mulling over Lance's request. Or trying to think of a way to reject him. _"I'm not home right now."_

"Oh…" Lance murmured, totally unable to hide his disappointment. Keith's house had been his last resort, the only place he could think of before he would have to shell out money for an over-priced latte at some needlessly fancy cafe.

_"I don't mind if you stay at my house though."_

Lance immediately perked up at the words, a bright warmth suddenly spreading through his chest. "Wait, really?"

_"I mean… I probably shouldn't let you into my house. I know that. You broke in twice."_

In response, Lance could only let out a nervous little laugh.

_"But… you don't seem all bad."_

"Thank… you?" Lance wasn't entirely sure if that was a compliment or not. "Where are you anyway? Shouldn't you be busy with like… tour stuff?"

 _"I am,"_ Keith replied, a sharp sigh leaving him. _"I'm meeting up with my dancers. Two of them got hurt yesterday, so we need to practice with the replacements."_

"Isn't your next concert in a week or something?"

_"Yup."_

"Wow." Although Keith's situation was totally unrelatable to anyone who wasn't a huge pop-star, Lance could still sympathise with being under a constant timer. His own stress levels were building up and reigniting with every new assignment, homework and article request that came to him in a never-ending flow. It kept him busy and distracted from the sense of exhaustion that seemed ever-present lately, but he could tell this wasn't something he could maintain long. Meanwhile, Keith had been doing this for _years_. "That's rough, man."

Keith went silent once again, almost as though he didn't know how to answer. Considering he always seemed to have a snarky response to anything Lance threw at him, it seemed slightly odd. _"Yeah,"_ he eventually murmured in a soft voice. _"It sucks sometimes. But it's usually worth it in the end."_

Lance wasn't entirely sure how to take those words. Was Keith only referring to dancing? Touring perhaps? Or his life in general? "How do I get into your house?"

 _"Through the front door,"_ Keith immediately barked. _"Like a normal person."_

"I dunno, going in through your window sounds more fun. Makes me feel like I'm on an adventure, you know." He could hear Keith's annoyed _"For fuck's sake"_ , the muffled tone of it indicating he was face-palming or doing some other annoyed gesture. Lance could just barely hold in the laughter that so desperately wanted to sprout forth. "What about security?"

_"I'll text someone to disable the system for a bit and not to mind the weird lanky kid climbing into my living room like a literal stalker."_

"Hey!"

_"Bye."_

"Wait, Keith–!" Before Lance could say anything, the call had already been ended. Hissing curses at his phone, Lance then turned on the spot and made his way towards the rich people district that Keith lived in. It was almost fifty minutes of walking away, but even that was better than paying for the bus ride.

Making his way down the sidewalk like that, Lance replayed his conversation with Keith in his head. He was still slightly in awe over how he had been able to just talk to him like that. At some point during their conversation, his initial hesitation and nervousness had simply evaporated into thin air and he had completely forgotten about the whole celebrity thing. Keith was honestly starting to manifest in his mind as just a dude and not this person with a net worth of over 300 million. Granted, Lance had known the guy since early childhood and so it had taken him quite long to even view Keith as a celebrity to begin with. But seeing his hordes of fans in person at his concert, watching him perform, seeing his huge mansion, all of that had very clearly painted a picture of Keith in his mind. And it was getting increasingly difficult to separate those things from him. Lance had two warring mental images of Keith in his mind now: one the guy he had had silly food fights with in kindergarten, the other the untouchable celebrity who could have anything in the world if he just wished so.

With thoughts like that circling in his mind, time flew by awfully fast and Lance soon found himself at his destination: Keith's ridiculously grand mansion. Shooting a nervous glance at the security cameras clearly pointed at him, Lance leaped up the fence the same way he had last time, landed in the garden and then made his way to the building itself. Some kind of alarm should be going off by now, but nothing happened; Lance was actually getting a pass. He could have taken the front door, but something about that felt too official.

Like him and Keith were actually friends. They weren't. They couldn't.

When the thought hit him, Lance stopped in the middle of climbing into Keith's living room window. Only a few weeks ago, he had hated the guy with every fibre of his being. He still believed that Keith's fan base was largely comprised of terrible little pre-teen girls who were too internet-savvy for their own good. He still believed that Keith was a pompous asshole who made less than mediocre music and somehow still made insane amounts of money. He still didn't agree with a lot of Keith's past behaviour. From the outside looking in, a lot of the things that Keith had done and said came across incredibly off-putting. And yet Lance couldn't get himself to simply stop thinking about him. He hadn't since kindergarten.

Alas, eventually, just like the first time he had done this, Lance stumbled on his way through the window and quite literally fell inside. Wincing in pain, he slowly picked himself and his bag off the polished wood floor and took a glance around the living room. Just as expected, he couldn't see Keith anywhere and by the looks of it, no one had been here all day; perhaps several even. There were no used dishes or belongings scattered around, nothing seemed out of place. It barely even looked lived in. Shrugging to himself, Lance simply strolled towards the couch and let himself fall into it, revelling in the softness and how deeply he was sinking into it; it honestly felt more comfortable than even his bed at home. Body rapidly growing sluggish, Lance messily pushed off his jacket and shoes and haphazardly let his bag slide down somewhere next to the couch. Against his better judgement, he could feel his eyes growing heavy, limbs almost numb with exhaustion, especially after walking all the way here. Especially with exams coming up, it had been a few weeks since he had last had a good night's sleep. Lance briefly tried to fight off the exhaustion, but very quickly gave in to the whispers of sleep, drifting off almost immediately. Keith's couch was simply too comfy, the silence of his mansion soothing like the inside of a warm cocoon. It didn't take long for Lance's consciousness to slip away completely.

* * *

 Lance was dreaming. Sort of.

He was in that odd stage of dreaming where he couldn't hear or see anything, and yet he was perceiving some kind of melody. It drifted into his senses from far away, resonating in his chest and easing his mind. He wasn't thinking or feeling, simply existing. Floating in a space between wakefulness and sleep. Then the melody changed and grew more complex, overlapping itself, bright little notes floating across.

Slowly opening his eyes, Lance finally understood what he was hearing: singing. Still half-asleep, it took him a while to make sense of his surroundings. He wasn't home, but on a couch, causing a brief flash of panic to shoot through his mind. Seeing the high ceiling and fancy chandelier glittering above, he remembered that he was at Keith's house. Still groggy, mind fuzzy and mouth uncomfortably dry, Lance slowly sat up. It took him an extra second to notice the fluffy blanket sliding off his chest at the movement; he didn't remember putting one on himself. The room was almost completely dipped in darkness and once he took a look out of the windows, he realised that the sun had gone down long ago. At that moment, he also noticed the lone figure sitting on the balcony.

It was Keith. He was sitting in a black chair with an acoustic guitar, quietly strumming a melody to himself, singing like he was whispering into the wind. His voice was gentle despite having the occasional raspiness to it. It was strangely captivating, the kind of thing you couldn't avert your attention from. Lance felt drawn to the sound of Keith singing like a moth to light, as though Keith was suddenly the only bright thing in the middle of an ominously dark forest. Deciding to simply listen, Lance made himself comfortable again, sliding further up the couch to be closer to the window so he could watch.

If he recorded this and posted it online, it would instantly get millions of views for sure. Ever since being discovered off of his song covers online, Keith hadn't really done acoustic covers of other people's songs like he used to. Lance had a feeling he knew why. Watching Keith like this was incredibly personal. There were no cameras, no bright lights or screaming fans. It was simply a young guy with his guitar enjoying the feel of music. He didn't have to pay close attention to enunciating the lyrics properly, didn't have to worry about hitting every single note. There was no danger of him messing up and there being dozens of articles about it the next day. He could sing songs that didn't fit his image, songs that didn't at all match the style of his own music. It was totally understandable why he almost never publicly covered songs by other artists. 

All of a sudden, the soothing melody of Keith's guitar shifted to something much more fast-paced and unruly. He seemed like he was about to jump into another song, but suddenly interrupted himself, the sound of his guitar abruptly cutting off as he murmured an annoyed "Fuck" to himself. The melody that then came from his guitar was totally dissonant, the chords completely uneven, like he was randomly strumming a non-existent tune. His feet came up to settle on the balcony railing, intermittently kicking against them as he began singing. Although, it couldn't quite be called 'singing', since he was simply ranting to himself. With every new topic, the tune changed, going from lively pop rock rhythms to slower jazz beats. Most of it was silly: complaining about how he had lost his favourite pair of sunglasses, counting how often Shiro had nagged him that day, shitting on whoever had recommended he eat that garlic dish because now he couldn't take the smell of his own breath. But hidden within the snark and sarcasm, Lance could sometimes hear a note of actual ache, of something dark and hidden.

Finally deciding to make his presence known, Lance sluggishly got off the couch and slumped towards the windows. The sliding door to the balcony was already slightly ajar, so he only had to push it open a bit more to get outside. He stopped in his tracks when Keith abruptly halted playing and turned around to look at him, hair moving with a light breeze.

"Oh," he simply said when he caught sight of Lance. "Did I wake you up?"

"'S fine," Lance murmured in return, words still slurred with sleep. "I got a free concert out of it."

Keith visibly cringed at the words, eyebrows pulling together into a slight frown. "You heard that?"

"My favourite part was when you made a dirty little pun out of your choreographer's name." The second Keith's fiery gaze snapped towards him, Lance already knew what he was about to say. "My lips are sealed," he promised, although he couldn't suppress a small grin.

"I swear, if I see this in an article tomorrow–"

"You won't," Lance immediately cut him off. "I value my life." He watched Keith slowly turning back around to gaze out at the bright nightscape of the city, barely any stars in the sky. "For the record, it's not you I'm scared of. It's your fans. They have razor-sharp elbows. And they're small. No matter where they aim, it can only end up horribly for me."

"I have older fans too, you know," Keith grumbled.

Before Lance could shoot back with some kind of counter-jab, he witnessed something that truly stunned him into silence: Keith very casually picked up some kind of little box, the writing on it unreadable in the darkness. The next moment Keith was lighting himself a cigarette, the flame of his lighter briefly illuminating his face, before a small cloud of smoke rose into the air and dissipated into the night.

"You smoke?" Lance asked incredulously, barely able to hide his shock.

Smoke billowing past his lips, Keith didn't even turn to look at Lance when he answered. "Not really. It's just that some days it's hard not to."

Lance felt uneasy. His journalistic senses were tingling with the burning need to write a story. If he wrote an actual article about Keith revealing all the things he had learned so far, he could earn enough to easily last him a month or two, perhaps even more. There was no reason for him not to. Keith should know that. Keith should know not to trust journalists. So why was he so casual about all this? "I'm starting to think you _want_ me to write an article about you."

When Keith took another drag from his cigarette, the ember at the end glowed bright orange and cast odd shadows over his momentarily lit up face. He looked weirdly haggard in that kind of lighting. "You wouldn't. I could tell you things even Shiro doesn't know about and you still wouldn't do it."

Shaking his head, in a daze, it took Lance a while to regain his composure. "What makes you so damn sure?"

For a moment, all Keith did was blow smoke rings into the night. He was doing it with such ease it was obvious smoking was a regular habit and not something he would indulge in only once in a blue moon. "I thought about school," he suddenly began, tapping his cigarette against the railing and letting the ashes fall into his garden below. "Third grade or so." Another drag from his cigarette. "There were these kids. Pigtails and Droopy Eyes. I don't remember their names."

Letting out a sharp sigh, Lance had to go really far back in his memories, to a time where he remembered having a not so great time at school. "Are you talking about… Nyma and Rolo?"

"Yeah, those two. They bullied you, right?" When Lance didn't answer, Keith turned around to look at him, saw his stony expression, then simply went back to staring out at the city again. "Well anyway, I remember being in detention this one time and overhearing the teachers talking about some _incident_ between those two and you. Something about them accidentally being locked in some broom closet and you letting them out cause they were both crying and screaming like they were about to die. Deathly scared of the dark and small spaces or something." Guitar leaning against his chair, Keith softly ran his fingers across the chords, quiet little notes coming from each one as he took another drag from his cigarette. "You could have told the other kids about how they were scared of the dark. You could've totally ruined their reputation and any semblance of third grader pride they had. They would've been the laughing stock of the entire class. Kids are horrible like that."

Lance couldn't respond to that, unable to process anything that was happening. He found himself in an odd whirlpool of emotions where he was confused about Keith's ramblings but also reminiscing about the past, especially his many unpleasant encounters with Nyma and Rolo in elementary school.

"But you didn't tell anyone," Keith continued. "You could have taken your revenge on them, but you didn't. Why not? I sure would have. They deserved it."

Shrugging even though Keith couldn't see it, Lance wasn't sure how to answer at first. He hadn't thought about that incident in so long, he honestly didn't even remember what he had been thinking at the time. "I guess I didn't want to be mean. They left me alone after that anyway, so there was no need to tell anyone."

Keith didn't respond immediately, suddenly seeming occupied with searching for the few stars that were visible in the sky. "I don't think you fit the job you're doing right now," he suddenly said, voice oddly sombre. "You're not a mean person."

Suppressing a sigh, Lance followed Keith's example and directed his gaze at the sky, where only few stars shone brightly enough to be noticeable at all. No matter how vaguely phrased, he knew exactly what Keith meant. He had only been in the business for barely a year and already he had seen just how ruthless you had to be in some moments to get anywhere as a journalist. Between criticising celebrities for the way they raised their own children and writing snarky paragraphs about celebrity couples having stressful and harrowing divorces, it seemed like nothing was sacred. "It's not like writing articles about what Allura had for breakfast this morning before shooting some cosmetics ad is my dream job."

Taking his eyes off the sky, Keith finally stood up from his chair and instead leaned against the railing so he stood opposite Lance. When it seemed like he would take another drag from his cigarette, he instead looked at it with contemplative eyes, then put it out in the soil of a nearby potted plant. "Then what _is_ your dream job?"

Seeing Keith's face, Lance suddenly had the realisation that he was being oddly talkative; he truly couldn't remember Keith ever talking so much before. The next moment, he noticed the empty glass on a nearby table, ice cubes half melted and shimmering in the moonlight like diamonds. "I wanna… write articles about marine science," he began hesitantly. "That's why I'm majoring in marine biology and minoring in journalism."

"Sounds cool," Keith simply replied, eliciting a dry chuckle from Lance. "How do the gossip news come in?"

Shrugging, Lance could feel his eyes growing heavy again with exhaustion, yet his body was filled with an uncomfortable tension. "Cause of money mostly. My college newspaper doesn't really pay enough to get me by. Not that I earn anything by writing there anyway." Seeing Keith's questioning look, he took a deep breath. "Our supervisor once said that I'm, quote on quote, _too damn stupid to write a half-decent article even if someone held a gun to my empty fucking skull_. Pretty sure he's one of the reasons none of my articles ever get published. Gossip news are pretty forgiving with whatever language you use, so I guess that's just where I belong." Eyes drifting off towards the sky, all his doubts and anxieties suddenly came crashing down on Lance, weighing on him like a ton of bricks hanging around his neck. "I should probably just drop out of college now instead of collecting more debt trying to chase something that won't happen anyway."

Keith was silent for a long time. His eyes were downcast, focusing on some point on the ground, sometimes flicking up to look at some of the trees in his garden swaying lightly in the wind. But eventually, he walked off towards the other end of the balcony, still close enough that he could comfortably talk to Lance. The moonlight hit him right where he stopped, clearly outlining the contours of his body. "When I'm really old and wrinkly one day, I wanna be able to look back on my life and be able to say that I at least tried. Even if I failed at every single thing I ever tried to do, I would rather be able to look back on that than on me giving up before even trying. That's how you die with regrets, you know."

At a loss for words, Lance watched Keith pull out a bottle of some kind of amber liquor from underneath a chair and pour himself a bit, before downing it in one gulp. Immediately after, he poured another one and pushed it into Lance's hands. The liquid in the glass glistened with a golden glow whenever the moonlight hit it, briefly mesmerising Lance. "I have lectures in the morning, dude."

"So?" Keith shot back, taking a swig directly from the bottle. "Sleep through 'em."

"That's not how college works, Keith," Lance chuckled, feeling some of the tension ease out of his body. His heart suddenly felt light, lighter than it had in weeks. No matter how fleeting or temporary, he desperately wanted to cherish this feeling, so before he could decide otherwise he downed the shot. When a sharp, burning sweetness hit his tongue, he pulled a slightly disgusted face. "Brandy? Are you actually sixty? Should I be worried about your arthritis?"

"You want another one or not?" Keith retorted, totally ignoring Lance's jabs.

Unable to hide a lop-sided grin, Lance stood there speechless, which only prompted Keith to pour him a shot. As the almost completely melted ice cubes sluggishly knocked against each other, Lance wondered how expensive this glass in his hand was. It looked plain enough, but on closer inspection he could see some kind of small gem stone encased in the stem. As he stared into the glistening amber dancing around inside this glass that was probably worth at least a week or two of groceries, Lance slowly came back to reality and finally remembered what had even brought him here to begin with. "I should probably let Hunk know I'm okay." As he began typing out a message to his best friend while sipping on his glass, he realised with a start that he still needed to figure out how to get home. It was almost 10 p.m., meaning a lot of buses wouldn't be driving anymore. Additionally, he felt iffy about walking that distance at night by himself. "How do I get home?" he murmured to himself. 

"You can sleep over if you want."

While Lance had been texting, Keith had returned to standing in front of Lance, a visible flush beginning to appear across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks from the alcohol. Finally registering the words, Lance could only stare at Keith in total bewilderment as he set down his glass on a table. "You serious?" When Keith merely shrugged without a response and took another gulp from his bottle, Lance wondered if the guy was actually wasted and just good at hiding it. Surprisingly, Keith seemed totally in control though; at the very least, he wasn't a lightweight when it came to drinking. "Are all those rumours about you being a nightmare to work with just complete bullshit? Cause you're giving me a pretty chill vibe right now."

Keith's gaze drifted off, the wind blowing his bangs into his eyes, which he casually brushed back with his hand. "I work well with certain people. People like Shiro." He almost seemed hesitant about continuing, briefly meeting Lance's curious eyes before looking away again. "Unlike most people I meet, he's not exhausting."

Lance stood there somewhat foolishly with his mouth slightly agape, the gears in his head turning and turning, before finally clicking into place. "Are you saying _I'm_ not exhausting?"

Slightly startled, Keith stared at Lance owlishly for a moment. He seemed to realise the meaning of his own words, clearly unable to refute Lance's words, and suddenly turned around to lean against the balcony railing with his back turned.

Rolling back their conversation, another realisation then hit Lance. "Hey, wait, I just realised! You _do_ remember me! You remember me from all the way back in third grade!"

"I can neither confirm or deny," Keith immediately replied, stubbornly staring out at the city.

"Just admit it already!" Lance protested.

"No comment." While Lance cackled like a hyena behind him, Keith mumbled darkly under his breath and pushed away from the railing to head back inside.

Lance noticed too late that Keith was shutting the door, causing his laughter to die down instantly. "Hey, wait!" He heard the ominous click of the lock and nervously glanced up to find Keith shooting a smug look at him from inside the living room. "Dude, this isn't funny! I'm serious!"

"I thought you liked breaking in," came Keith's muffled voice. "Go ahead and try."

"Hey!" Lance yelled, knocking a fist against the glass. "Come on! It's cold!" Almost as if on command, a breeze so cold blew by it felt like a small layer of ice was settling over Lance's skin.

"Fine, fine," Keith said, still with a small grin, unlocking the door and making to open it.

Unable to wait, Lance tore open the door instead and rushed inside without even looking. He expected Keith to dodge, step aside or jump away or something.

He didn't. 

That resulted in Lance practically launching himself at Keith, a surprised gasp leaving him. He could see the brief flash of shock in Keith's eyes before they collided. The second Lance crashed into him, they both stumbled backwards. He was sure they would slam into the floor, which would result in some kind of injury for either or both of them. But yet again, Keith managed to surprise him. Instead of tumbling down, Keith caught Lance's weight and managed to stabilise them both.

"What the fuck?" was all he said, surprised eyes peering down at the fallen Lance, who was still desperately clinging to him.

"Uh…" Lance quickly pulled away from Keith and awkwardly fixed his clothes. "Jeez, you're hot." Almost immediately he realised his mistake, panicked eyes meeting Keith's dumbfounded ones. "No wait, I–I didn't–! I meant your body!" Lance almost punched himself. "Noooo! Your temperature! It's hot! You radiate heat like a fucking furnace! That's what I meant! Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?" Keith immediately asked smugly.

 _Like you know exactly how fucking hot you are_ , Lance thought, shooting an annoyed glare at the other. It was frustrating how mouth-wateringly attractive Keith looked standing there cast in the moonlight that streamed in through his ridiculously huge windows. For the first time since coming here, Lance realised how much the black shirt Keith was wearing hugged his body in all the right places, tight around his shoulders and chest, but slightly loose around the taper of his waist. Only when his eyes wandered down to those equally flattering sweatpants, Lance noticed he hadn't even answered the question and was very obviously ogling Keith. "What the fuck are you wearing?" It took Lance considerable effort to pull his eyes away from the curves of Keith's toned thighs. When he finally met Keith's eyes again, he found a questioning look being directed at him. "I didn't really notice when we were outside, but those are _neon fucking yellow_! What is wrong with you!"

Arms crossed, Keith lifted a leg to peek at his horrible pants, before shrugging. "I like 'em."

Often when celebrities wore bizarre outfits, they just worked. There simply were certain people who could wear whatever and still pull it off. They were trend-setters, bending fashion conventions to their will. Keith wasn't one of those people. He just looked goofy as hell. "You look like a cartoon character," Lance jabbed.

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment." For a second Lance thought he saw Keith pouting like a child, but he turned and walked away before he could see clearly.

"Let's watch a movie," Keith suddenly suggested, letting himself fall onto the couch Lance had been sleeping on. He pushed his hand into a gap in the couch and after digging around for a bit, pulled out some kind of remote. Lights turned on one after another, finally illuminating everything properly.

In the now bright room, Lance could actually see Keith clearly for the first time. And he couldn't shake the feeling that the guy looked exhausted. Keith didn't seem like the type who would force himself to please others, so if he was doing all this it most likely was because he truly wanted to, right? "I know what we can watch." Lance had to hold back laughter and bite his lip when Keith shot him a genuinely curious and expectant look, seemingly waiting for him to suggest an actually enjoyable movie. "Your documentary."

"Fuck you, no, what?!"

Lance could almost feel his knees buckling with the laughter that wanted to burst forth. He had never in his entire life seen Keith this genuinely disturbed and nervous. To cover up his own glee, Lance began to make grand gestures with his arms as he slowly walked towards Keith. " _Part biopic, part concert film, a glimpse into the life of the world's biggest teen pop-star, Kei–_ "

"I will launch you into space."

Seeing Keith's dead-serious face, Lance instantly burst out laughing, almost falling to his knees and barely making it to the couch, where he simply curled up into a ball and laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this hard, to the point of tears even. It was honestly a little strange how easily he got along with Keith after years of hating the guy. Although, yes, technically he had known him since his early childhood, they had almost never directly interacted. Keith hadn't even been aware of his existence until a few weeks ago. And yet Lance felt as though they had been friends for years, able to joke around with him and talk to him like he had known him forever. It was incredibly exciting and made something in his chest feel oddly light, but it also made him feel uneasy.

Just how far would this go?

* * *

By the time the trees lining Lance's way to campus were changing colours, leaves turning from bright greens to vibrant reds and oranges, he had been hanging out with Keith surprisingly often. Considering the guy was a literal A-list celebrity who toured, produced music and in general had a lot of celebrity stuff to do, Lance was surprised at just how much they got to see each other. What had started as Lance breaking into Keith's house out of mere morbid curiosity, had turned into an odd love-hate relationship in which Lance simply continued breaking into Keith's house despite Keith telling him to use the front door each time. It had been months and Lance legitimately still didn't know what Keith's front door even looked like. Outsiders would say they were friends but neither would ever admit it. Their relationship was a lot less significant and yet much more complicated than that.

"Wait, so you hang out once or twice a month, he even makes time for you somehow with his busy schedule, but you're not _friends_?"

Lance could see in Pidge's eyes that he sounded ridiculous and yet he couldn't describe the relationship any other way. He simply responded by shrugging, shooting Pidge a flat look. "We don't really have much in common. And I still think he's a dickhead. I just–" He was interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket, prompting him to push back his creaky cafeteria chair so he could get to it. "Speak of the devil." When he looked up to tell Pidge he needed to take the call, his friend was already staring back at him with eyes full of cold resignation. "Sorry," he whispered, before accepting the call. "Finally decided to call your favourite boy, huh?"

_"Sorry, wrong number. I don't remember dialling a moron."_

"Hey!"

_"You got time time to hang out?"_

"Ugh… I guess so?" Lance replied, already so used to Keith's jabs and curt words that they didn't even really elicit much of a response from him anymore. "I was about to eat lunch with Pidge, but I forgot my wallet, so I'm just watching everyone around me eat while I suffer." When he only received silence in response, he briefly checked to see if he had somehow accidentally ended the call, but found it still active. "Keith?"

_"We could go… eat. If you want."_

It took Lance a moment to truly register the words. He had to roll them back and replay the words in his mind a couple times to confirm what he had heard. "Wait, you mean _outside_?"

So far Keith and Lance had almost exclusively met up inside Keith's house, away from the paparazzi, potential fans and any other prying eyes. The furthest away they had gotten was the small, quaint park near Keith's house. They had gone there once in the middle of the night to try out their home-made sparklers from some tutorial they had found online. It was an unspoken agreement between them that, given Keith's status, it would be better for them to simply stay where no one could monitor them in any way. As much as Lance gave Keith shit, he could tell that hanging out the way they did was a time of respite for Keith, time away from the hustle and bustle of being a celebrity. So for him to suggest going somewhere where people could recognise Keith and bother him was shocking, to say the least.

_"You still there?"_

"Uh… yeah," Lance quickly replied, still slightly dazed. "I was just amazed hearing that from the king of locking himself in his room for days."

_"You in or not, dipshit?"_

"I was about to say 'Yes', but then you insulted me and now I'm too sad to go anywhere." The sound of a laptop snapping shut reminded Lance that Pidge was still there, listening to everything he was saying.

"If you're just gonna keep flirting, I'm leaving."

"Wait, I'm not–!" Before Lance could even get the words out, Keith voice suddenly rang out from his phone again.

 _"Hey, drama queen,"_ he grumbled, _"if you don't answer soon I'm coming over there to strangle you personally."_

"Fine, I'm going, I'm going, jeez." Lance tried to silently make Pidge stop giving him that smug, judgmental look, but was unsuccessful. No surprise there. "Text me where we're going and I'll be there."

_"Hey, why do I have to–!"_

"See you there!" Lance hung up before Keith could protest, causing a satisfied smirk to widen on his face.

"So when's the wedding?" Pidge dead-panned, albeit with some mirth.

"Shut up," Lance protested weakly, already used to the teasing. The grin that had spread on Pidge's face slowly faded, instantly making Lance perk up. "What's wrong?"

Pidge seemed hesitant, lips pressed together and gaze contemplative. "Did I hear that right that you're going somewhere with Keith that isn't the inside of his multi-million dollar mansion?"

"Yup." Although in the beginning Keith's wealth had freaked Lance out quite a bit, he had grown accustomed to at least the whole mansion thing. Against all expectations, Keith didn't seem all that materialistic. Apparently, his management had urged him to purchase an expensive property as both a status symbol and a future investment, so it hadn't really been his choice to live by himself in such a huge house. "Why, what about it?"

For a moment, Pidge simply took a sip from a half-melted milkshake, before slowyl tapping a finger against the table in a steady rhythm. "His fans are catching on."

"Catching on to what?" A confused frown immediately took over Lance's face.

"Catching on to something being different in Keith's life and that something probably being a person." Pidge was staring down at the table now, glasses glinting intermittently as they caught stray sun rays from the floor-length windows of the cafeteria. "They've been in full-on conspiracy mode for a couple weeks now. I don't think you understand the lengths to which some of these fans will go to know _exactly_ what Keith is up to, especially if he's not telling them every single detail of his life."

Albeit a bit disturbed, Lance let out a nervous laugh. "There's no way they know about me. I never show up in any of Keith's social media and he's never mentioned me. How would they know?"

"You're underestimating them, Lance," Pidge shot back with a somewhat humourless laugh. "I had to dig a little to find all this, but I think it started a couple weeks after you two first started hanging out. Apparently Keith posted a photo where you can see his living room table in the background. There's two full glasses on it instead of just one, so of course people assumed he'd had a guest he wasn't showing. That made his fans suspicious cause apparently he usually takes selfies with all the celebrities he hangs out with. So then from that they could conclude that he was hanging out with someone who isn't famous whose identity he was protecting. And _then_ they figured _'Oh wow, he must be dating someone'_ , but that theory doesn't make much sense considering his dating life is pretty open to the public. It would make no sense for him to hide it this long. So ever since then they've been collecting so-called _evidence_ to determine just who this mystery person is. I think it started as this thing a few obsessive fans were doing, but after months of this and with their evidence piling up, it's starting to reach the entire fanbase. And they're getting _really_ heated about it. Things are getting ugly in the Keith fandom."

"When have they not been?" Lance mumbled dryly, feeling a sudden sense of exhaustion. "But seriously, I don't think they'll ever find out who I am. They can search every pixel of every single photo Keith uploads and analyse the wording of all his posts, but they won't ever find me specifically. There's just no way."

Hands up in a surrendering manner, Pidge shrugged. "I'm just relaying the information. All I'm saying is that the longer this goes on, the more heated his fans will get and the more they'll want to find out who you are and what your relationship with Keith is. I'm almost certain it'll escalate at some point."

"What do you mean _escalate_?"

Pidge simply shrugged, taking another sip from the milkshake. "They're digging up things he posted five years ago to find connections, Lance. They're going through all his photos and looking up every single person that's ever been in a three foot radius of Keith. They've already targeted and harassed two people who they thought he was secretly hanging out with. It's not pretty."

Lance was already getting ready to leave, packing up his things and pushing his chair into the table. "You're making it sound like they're rabid dogs on a manhunt."

"Take it however you want." Pidge set down the now empty milkshake cup, hands almost automatically sliding over the laptop to rest there. "Just… be careful. I really don't think you understand what his fanbase is like."

"Oh, believe me, Pidge, I know," Lance countered confidently. "I've been watching them throw shit not just at other people but also each other for years now. This isn't anything new to me. I just don't think they have the resources to find out who I am unless him and I go…" When the realisation hit him and Lance met Pidge's eyes this time, he got a simple eyebrow raise in return. "I'll be careful. Happy?" When Pidge simply gave him a thumbs-up, Lance finally made his way to the exit.

Of course Lance knew he should never underestimate Keith's fans. For years they had been a huge part of the reason he had disliked Keith so much; they were a large chunk of the reason why _most_ people disliked Keith. With his fanbase being so huge, the usual vocal minority that was present in any group was equally huge, easily overpowering any other voices. All Lance could and would do in this situation was continue the way he had: avoiding direct association with Keith unless they were somewhere where no one could watch them.

They weren't friends after all.

* * *

The closer he got to his destination, the worse the feeling in Lance's gut was growing. He was getting quite far away from his usual area and gradually entering parts of the city he had never seen before. Buildings were getting taller and newer, people looked busier, the cars more expensive. Checking his phone for the umpteenth time, he made sure he was going the right way. Stunned, he stopped in his tracks when he realised that he had just passed by where he was supposed to go, making him click his tongue in frustration and turn on the spot.

Keith did not care about money. That was one thing Lance knew for sure after all these months of hanging out with him. At home, where no one could judge him, Keith dressed sloppier than even Lance's father on one of his lazy days. He didn't know for sure, but Lance was convinced that Keith dressed even worse when he didn't have anyone coming over; Lance had caught glimpses of the ratty pants and bizarrely patterned shirts haphazardly thrown under the guy's bed. If he didn't have stylists to dress him, Keith would probably dress like an alien cartoon character that had never seen clothes in their life. He was honestly a menace to the fashion world. So for Keith to bring Lance to such a fancy area was puzzling, to say the least. He wasn't the type to flaunt his money and didn't enjoy expensive food. If presented with the choice of either a cold slice of pizza of dubious origin or an expensive lobster dish, Lance could say with certainty that Keith would choose the pizza, simply because he wouldn't have to use any utensils for it.

And so Lance found himself in front of the door of a high-rise building with sliding doors made entirely of perfectly polished glass. His eyes snapped down to his phone again to confirm that, yes, this was where Keith wanted him to come. So far he didn't quite understand Keith's other instructions, but figured he might as well do as he was told. Shrugging to himself, Lance walked through the sliding doors, then stepped into an elevator and let it take him to the 55th floor. When he thought of the sheer height this elevator was climbing, his stomach began doing soft little flips that made him feel even more queasy about this whole thing. Once he reached his floor, he stepped out of the elevator and was immediately greeted by the entrance to a restaurant, doors made of luscious dark wood beckoning him inside. Hesitating for a moment, he eventually made his way inside and, when he pushed open the heavy door, heard a soft chime above his head, which alerted a receptionist to his presence.

"Uh, hi," he greeted her awkwardly, pushing his baseball cap out of his face to look at her, "I'm… Lance?"

"Oh!" she immediately said, realisation shining in her eyes. "Everything is ready. Please follow me."

Lance quickly followed after her, noting how the lavishly decorated restaurant was still relatively empty. He could only find business men drinking their coffee or the stray couple or two sharing a dessert. He was led up a flight of stairs, before he found himself in yet another elevator, although this one had marble floors and seemed entirely separate from the one he had been in earlier. He thought the 60th floor was the highest one, but apparently he was about to go up even higher. The next time he heard the ding of the elevator, he was on the 75th floor. At first slightly dazed at the thought of being so high up, he quickly regained his bearings when the receptionist hastily walked out towards a small door. There was nothing else on the floor but that door, making Lance wonder just what was behind it.

The door then swung open to reveal bright sunlight and crisp autumn air and before long, Lance was looking out over the bustling city from an open rooftop. A small table with nice-looking chairs sat in one corner, surrounded by a few miniature trees and exotic-looking potted plants, which gave the otherwise simple rooftop an air of warmth and comfort. And there was Keith, slumped in a chair already asleep with half a cup of cold tea in front of him and a hood covering most of his face. Lance was used to the sight by now, but to anyone else seeing a top celebrity like this was probably nothing short of earth-shattering. This situation was probably a fangirl's dream. Or _supposed_ to be until, instead of finding a smartly dressed Keith waiting with a glass of fancy wine, Keith was just in a chair snoring and drooling into his stained orange hoodie, absolutely dead to the world.

The second the receptionist excused herself with an awkward smile and left, Lance marched up to Keith. He was about to wake him up with a snarky remark and a slap, but ended up pausing next to the pop-star with his hand hovering in the air. He found himself rendered motionless by how horribly tired Keith looked even _while_ he was sleeping soundly. And he wasn't even napping, as in likely to wake up if talked to. No, he was dead asleep and would probably not be roused even if the world ended around him. Lance had the impulse to brush some of the hair out of Keith's face when the wind blew a few strands into it, somewhat obscuring the pitiful sight of those dark bags under his eyes. Catching himself with his hand already inching towards Keith's pale face, Lance instead smacked him over the head. "Hey," he greeted Keith flatly when he snapped awake with dazed eyes.

"Hm wha…?" Keith mumbled, taking a second to even make sense of his surroundings. "Oh, right. Eat."

Letting out a small sigh, Lance took a seat in the chair across from Keith and made himself comfortable. Seeing Keith in his usual messy glory had dispelled any sense of fanciness and luxury, making Lance feel much more at ease being here. For a brief moment he wondered how Keith would have reacted if he had actually touched his face. Would he have even woken up? "How much sleep you get?"

"Sleep?" Keith grumbled, before draping his arms over the table and sinking his face into his too long sleeves. "I don't know what that is."

Chuckling quietly, Lance could feel a yawn bubbling up seeing Keith so tired. He felt an odd mix of fondness and concern seeing Keith nuzzling into his hoodie like a half asleep kitten. "What're you up to anyway? I haven't heard from you in weeks."

With some effort, Keith raised a hand to make a dismissive waving motion. "Tour's finally over. New album's in the works. 'S gonna get released soon. Management really want me in some dumb reality TV show."

"Oh, wow, that would be something." Lance immediately began grinning at the mere thought of it. Keith would totally bomb any attempt at making any kind of entertaining content for a show like that. He was notorious for being bad at following directions and sticking to scripts, making him the exact opposite of what you'd want on reality TV. Lance would honestly love to see the poor sop who'd have to attempt to make something out of whatever mess Keith would create. "Do they know what a brilliantly bad idea that would be?"

"My management changed recently, so nope."

The mumbled response made Lance both smile and let out a sigh. He could tell Keith was tired and probably wanted to do nothing more than just sleep, yet he had taken the time to set this all up just to meet him. It made a strangely sweet warmth bubble up in his chest. "What is all this anyway? Feels like we're on a date."

"Probably cause this is a dating spot," Keith replied through a yawn, voice trailing off. He seemed to notice the shock on Lance's face and rubbed at his eyes. "The restaurant owner reserves this rooftop for celebrities who wanna date without being caught. Guy can keep a secret, so I figured we might as well just eat here."

Lance was saved from having to think too much about Keith's words when the door opened again and a waiter came in carrying plates of food and drinks. The table was a bit small, so it was almost entirely covered once he had set everything down. He never directly looked at Keith and quietly excused himself, before leaving in somewhat of a rush.

It was easy to forget for Lance because he always met Keith when he was just at home hanging out – without professional lighting or any pretty editing – but this guy was a global celebrity. Lance could probably go to the other side of the planet and still find people who knew Keith. Not necessarily fans, but for sure people who knew who he was and what he did, who had heard his music over the years. His initial reaction to seeing anyone being nervous around Keith was always confusion and disbelief, but only until he remembered what kind of person Keith was.

"I just ordered some stuff that sounded edible," Keith eventually said, pulling off his hood to reveal an impressive mop of bed hair despite it being afternoon.

Finally snapped away from his musings, Lance took in the food laid out before him. Considering how fancy the restaurant had seemed, the food looked relatively normal: pasta, fried chicken, some fries along with glasses of some kind of tea mixture. Granted, it all looked quite artistic and like nothing Lance had ever seen before, his mouth instantly watering at the delicious fragrances mingling together. Still, he found himself relieved that the food seemed simple enough. Although he probably shouldn't have expected anything else from Keith.

While Lance had been inspecting the food, Keith was already in the middle of snoozing off again. Eyes closed and head lazily propped up by his right arm, his breathing was noticeably evening out. Chuckling to himself, Lance carefully began stretching over the table until he was able to knock Keith's arm from out under his chin, making his head almost slam into the table had he not caught himself in time. Lance broke out into loud barks of laughter when a disgruntled Keith quietly seethed, too exhausted to really do anything more.

"I swear I'll throw you off this roof," Keith grumbled, reluctantly sitting up straight and finally making efforts to wake himself up. Evidently, he knew Lance well enough to know that his peaceful sleep time was over.

Meanwhile, Lance was already shoving fries down his throat. They could've done with more salt, but they were still tasty enough for him to want to stuff his mouth like a chipmunk. He quickly moved on to the fried chicken, which just about melted in his mouth and almost made him moan in pleasure.

Despite all the tasty food in front of him, Keith didn't seem all that eager to eat. Unlike Lance, he only nibbled on his fries, never even looking at all the other food he had ordered.

It took a while, but when the food wasn't disappearing as quickly as usual, Lance's eyes finally snapped up to find Keith still nibbling on the same fry he had been nursing for the past three minutes. "Aren't you hungry?"

Keith met his eyes after a slight delay and merely shrugged his shoulders lifelessly.

Lance had seen Keith exhausted and tired, but never this subdued. Even when Keith was totally out of battery, he usually was able to muster up enough energy to at least hold a conversation. Right now he didn't even seem capable of that. Moreover, something about him was off in general. "You doing okay, man?" The question was casual, yet Lance couldn't help but closely watch and gauge the other's reaction.

Keith looked at him almost suspiciously, holding his gaze as Lance continued eating while he had seemingly given up on the food entirely. After a while, he let out a small sigh. "I think… I hate my new album."

Lance almost almost dropped the fry he had been about to eat. He wasn't quite sure how to react, since he never talked to Keith about his work. Keith seemed to always avoid the topic, like he didn't want to be reminded of it. "You're not sure?"

Something like surprise flashed over Keith's face and his eyes very briefly searched the other's face – for what, Lance wasn't sure –, before dropping down to the table. After a moment of hesitation, he finally spoke up again. "I wrote and composed most of the songs. I controlled the entire process. But somehow I don't think any of the songs are actually good."

Still unsure how to respond, Lance shoved a fork-full of pasta in his mouth to give himself time to think.

"This is the first album where I had the freedom to decide everything. If it fails…"

"Keith…" Lance waited until Keith raised his head to look at him, something like apprehension shining in his eyes, "do you know how much your last album sold?"

Averting his eyes, Keith shrugged and slumped down a little. "I don't really look at the numbers."

"Over three million copies." Lance didn't let himself get deterred by Keith's stony, unimpressed gaze. "And for how long was that album on the charts?" Keith didn't even give him a response this time, instead sinking even further into his chair. "Over fifty weeks."

"So?"

"The album was shit." Immediately, Lance could see the fire returning to Keith's eyes. "The songs were all this really boring mainstream pop garbage we've been hearing since 2007 or something. I'm sure your team of writers and producers or whatever were _reeeeally_ passionate about their jobs, but it didn't really show. Every single song on that album was trash and it _still_ sold. Why? Cause you have obsessive fans who will buy anything with your name on it." Lance immediately gulped when Keith narrowed his eyes at him dangerously, visibly annoyed. He expected everything from yelling, to food throwing and fists flying, but not what happened next.

"I know." It was quiet and barely audible, but the words somehow still rang out clearly. "I know all that. What's your point?"

"My point…" Lance had to recollect his thoughts after being so severely thrown off by Keith's unexpectedly calm response. "My point is that anything _you_ do is probably way better than whatever your terrible team came up with last time. I have a little bit of faith in you, which is more than I have for the music industry in general." Lance's heart rate had picked up while speaking and he firmly kept his gaze anywhere but Keith's face. Suddenly, he could feel the tension of sitting with a hugely popular celebrity. A hugely popular celebrity with millions of sold albums that he had just very casually torn apart to his face.

Keith them mumbled something into his hands, his quiet voice carried away by the wind.

"What?" Lance immediately asked, eyes now focused on Keith, who was staring down at the table, bangs messily hanging into his pale face.

Looking slightly sheepish, Keith then finally locked eyes with Lance, half his face in his hand. "Thanks," he mumbled, gaze quickly jumping away again to look elsewhere.

Speechless at first, Lance simply stared at Keith for a long moment, before snapping out of his daze. "Uh… you're welcome." He awkwardly coughed into his hand, before busying himself with the food again. Occasionally he would glance up to find Keith slowly beginning to eat again and his complexion looking a lot less sickly after a while. Still, Lance couldn't help but picture his abuela pushing more and more food into Keith's face until she deemed him properly fed. "Hey, do I need to force-feed you again?"

Keith's attention immediately snapped to Lance at the words, a small frown forming on his face. "What, you mean you're gonna wait till I fall asleep and shove food up my nose again? Try and I'll actually throw you off this roof. Only three people know we're up here and I can easily silence them."

Although Lance chuckled a little at the words, a pang of concern hit him when he remembered that Keith was a literal workaholic who would spend hours working on something and only eat when he was done. Sometimes he would spend entire days like that, ignoring his body's demand for food until the bitter end. Who knew when he had last had a proper meal. "I'm just worried about your health," he said with a smirk. He said it sarcastically, but of course he secretly meant every word.

For a moment, Keith stared Lance down as he chomped at a fry, before he suddenly leaned over the table towards Lance. "Feed me then."

Almost as though driven by some kind of invisible force, Lance immediately held up the fork-full of pasta in his hand and pushed it into Keith's mouth. It took him a second or two to realise what he was actually doing, making him immediately let go of the fork, effectively leaving an equally bewildered Keith with the fork hanging out of his mouth. "Shit, I… I-I always had to feed my nephews when they were little! I just automatically did it! I uh… um…"

Still stunned, Keith slowly sank back into his chair and removed the fork from his mouth, before cautiously chewing. "'S good," he murmured, before suddenly digging into the pasta with Lance's fork. He almost seemed adamant on shoving enough food into his mouth to completely deter any attempts at holding a conversation.

Meanwhile, now without a fork, Lance decided he had had enough to eat and simply sat back and stared into the sky. A light breeze ruffled his hair, cooling his awfully hot skin. Listening to Keith absolutely chowing down on that pasta, Lance couldn't help but eventually look at him again. Keith's already stained hoodie was only growing more and more dirty, with pasta sauce somehow already all over his clothes. Looking at him totally engrossed in eating, Lance's eyes wandered to where sauce was smeared on the corner of Keith's lips. Lance had another one of those nearly uncontrollable impulses to reach forward and wipe it off like he was some fed up suburban mom. And yet, at the same time, he also wanted to lick it off and bite–

"How's college going, by the way?" Keith suddenly asked, finally pausing in his quest to devour the entire table to actually talk to Lance.

"Oh, uh…" Caught off guard by the sudden question, it took Lance a second longer to collect his thoughts. "It's… tough." His ears and the back of his neck growing uncomfortably hot, Lance could almost feel the gears in his brain halting to a stop, before rearranging themselves to change the tracks of his thoughts. He wasn't used to opening up to Keith about college. Somehow being in a new environment – far away from the inside of Keith's mansion – was making him want to have deeper conversations with him and he wasn't sure why. He both wished for their more casual conversations about video games and bad movies, but also felt a sense of relief at being able to talk to someone completely separate from his college life. "I went into my marine biology major blind, so having physics classes and chemistry labs and everything this semester is kinda kicking my ass."

Keith was sipping on his drink, ice cubes clinking together in his glass. "And you're minoring in journalism too, right?"

Lance simply nodded, feeling his own exhaustion creeping up just thinking of all the assignments still waiting for him at home. "Sometimes I'm not sure if I can do it. Every semester I'm sure I'm gonna fail all my exams, but somehow I still manage to barely scrape by each time."

Absent-mindedly nibbling on a half-melted ice cube, Keith seemed lost in thought as he stared off to the side. "Seems to me like you're doing just fine."

Surprised, Lance glanced up to find Keith still staring out at the busy city spread out below them, eyes seemingly following movement happening somewhere in the streets.

"I wouldn't really call it 'scraping by' if every semester you consistently have decent enough grades to pass."

Hearing the words, Lance couldn't suppress a small grin, which he hid by coughing into his sleeve. "I guess you're right," he said quietly.

Another silence settled over the table then, but it wasn't awkward. Lance remembered constantly getting nervous when they had first started hanging out and this same thing would happen, horrified at his lack of ability to keep a conversation with Keith going. He would always go home and swear to never come back, but then he couldn't resist breaking into Keith's house again and again just to see his reaction. With time he had learned that Keith simply wasn't the type of person who had to constantly talk and fill silence. It had been difficult at first, but Lance had learned to simply be at ease with the lack of conversation, not worrying about having to fill the empty space with words. Conversely, Lance almost felt like Keith was only now beginning to really thaw out and show him his real emotions and thoughts. It had taken weeks for him to even invite Lance on his own. The only way they had ever met before that was when Lance broke into his apartment and he happened to be there. Otherwise, Lance would simply stay there until he came home, using the excess of free space to work on his college assignments and projects or new articles. He honestly preferred Keith's place over his own simply because it was quiet; no loud sex-having neighbours or cats murdering each other outside.

And now that he didn't base a majority of his articles around shitting on Keith anymore, Lance had had to shift focus and find different things to write about. He mostly stayed within the same general topic of music and other meaningless celebrity talk, considering he was still mostly writing articles for a gossip magazine. More than once he had wanted to come clean to Keith about the many disparaging articles he had written about him, but he could never quite find the courage to do so. He could honestly imagine Keith totally cutting ties with him if he ever found out. Even after deleting the articles and basically erasing eighty percent of the content on his blog, Lance still held some guilt over the whole thing, especially now after hearing about Keith's worries and anxieties concerning his own music. "Oh…" Lance suddenly remembered something the chief editor of the gossip magazine had let slip to him. "Just a little heads-up: they're writing articles about you and your new… girlfriend. They'll probably be out by the end of the day."

Keith paused with a fork in his mouth, utter confusion on his face. "Articles about my what?"

Equally confused seeing the look on Keith's face, Lance wondered if he had somehow misspoken. "Your… girlfriend?"

"I have a girlfriend?"

Speechless, Lance could only stare at Keith. "Um…"

Suddenly, the puzzled expression vanished from Keith's face and he simply shrugged. "Huh… I guess I do."

While Keith took a sip from his drink, Lance was still processing the words. "Wait, what?"

Keith took another gulp before answering, finally using a napkin to wipe off some of the mess on his face. "If my management says I'm dating someone, I am. Don't have much say in that stuff."

Shaking his head now, Lance couldn't quite understand anything Keith was saying. "But… but why?"

"Usually for promotion," Keith immediately explained, head slowly dropping backwards until he was staring straight up into the sky. "Whoever she is, she's probably some up and coming actress or model or whatever that needs a boost. I'm also gonna be in a movie soon, so having the media's eyes on me is probably important right now."

"Wait, wait, wait, a movie? You?" Lance almost jumped out of his seat, eyes heated and body suddenly brimming with nervous journalistic energy. "Are you allowed to tell me about that?!"

"Um… probably not," Keith slowly replied with barely a hint of guilt. "Oops. Don't tell anyone." While taking another sip, Keith took a glimpse at his phone. "See, here it is. I'm supposed to meet up with my girlfriend at a bar tonight so the paparazzi can take _candid shots_ and write their little articles."

Lance felt like an idiot for not quite putting the puzzle pieces together sooner, but at the same time figured he probably would have found out about this practice sooner or later. It made total sense. No matter the level of disclosure between them, it was a win-win situation for both sides. Celebrities and newcomers got extra exposure and attention, while the media got their headlines. It was honestly brilliant. "So… is that why you always break up after just a couple months of dating?"

"Pretty much." Keith set down his now empty cup, instead sucking on the leftover ice cubes again. "And always with the same explanation from my management: _They broke up after being unable to spend time with each other due to their busy schedules_. No one questions it, no one really asks about it. Once you see that kind of headline often enough, you just assume that's how dating between celebrities works."

Lance honestly felt like he would probably never know the full extent of the craziness that was Keith's life. Just like in this very moment, he would occasionally find out things about the industry that absolutely floored him. "Wow." 

"Yup."

Face slightly hot, Lance then found himself staring at the other somewhat absent-mindedly; at least until Keith returned the stare with a questioning look. "Did you ever… take any of them up here?"

Keith seemed to watch Lance for a moment, the way he was suddenly holding eye contact almost stubbornly, taking a sip of his drink. "You mean for a date?" When Lance nodded, he only shrugged. "Not really, no. It's usually just a business thing. I'm not into them and they're usually not into me either. We never meet in public unless it's for a headline." He paused for a moment, eyes trailing off to roam over the otherwise sparingly decorated rooftop. "It's a hustle."

Lance merely nodded into his glass, even though it was nearly empty by now, leaving him with nothing to distract himself with. As much as Pidge side-eyed him for it, he still felt odd calling Keith a friend. Usually, he would have already introduced Keith to the rest of his friends and integrated him into his general social circle. He would have invited him over for his family's big Easter dinner, fed him more of the incredible pastries Hunk sometimes baked on the weekends, had him over at his apartment for a movie night with his other friends.

But he couldn't do any of that.

Because they weren't friends.

They couldn't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment or message me on tumblr if you have any thoughts! I'm always excited to read them.
> 
> I don't want to make promises as to when the next chapter will be up. I'm gonna say in two weeks, but that's a really rough estimate. I'm not sure yet how busy I'll be, but I'll try to upload it after three weeks, at the latest.


	3. Chorus

Nibbling at his pen, Lance felt nervous cold sweat rolling down his back when yet another person stood up, handed in their exam and left. He had barely made it through half the questions and already a majority of people were done. Would he even make it in time? Was he already doomed? Had studying for three days and nights straight been for naught after all? 

After much nervous leg shaking and hair ruffling, Lance eventually put the finishing touches on his exam papers. With only five minutes left to go, he dedicated the rest of his time to hastily reading through all his answers, desperately correcting and rewriting things, all until a shrill phone alarm went off.

"Time's over," the professor announced, already purposefully stalking towards the remaining few to take their exam papers by force if she had to.

Lance was still in the middle of rethinking his last few answers, pen hovering over the sea star predation question with his leg shaking tick at an all time high.

"Lance?" his professor addressed him in a demanding tone, hand outstretched and waiting for his papers.

Letting out a defeated sigh, Lance straightened out his papers and reluctantly handed them over. Usually he would have sent a wink her way or complimented her on her outfit – his marine systems professor wasn't _that_ much older than him and exactly his type after all –, but he was too busy wallowing in misery to come up with anything. As he sat there bemoaning his own inadequacy, he remembered Keith's words from the week prior. He felt like this after almost all of his exams, but in the end always got relatively decent grades. They could be better for sure, but he was happy with them. Sighing to himself, he could feel some of the doom and gloom in his head melt away.

Once he had given himself a little pep talk, Lance finally made his way out of the auditorium. With the exam over, he had nothing else to do for the day; he had been too busy studying desperately to think about what to do afterwards. And so he simply strolled through the building while stretching his body a little, hearing a few joints give satisfying pops. Hunk and Pidge were both studying for their own exams and so were Lance's other friends; if he asked anyone to hang out, he would most likely get yelled at. That left him with nothing to do but hang out at home and slowly sink into his couch as he caught up on a few shows he had missed. He had quite a lot of new episodes to watch after weeks of almost completely shutting out entertainment of any kind. He had the brief impulse to call up Keith, but figured he was probably too busy with preparations for his upcoming album. Considering how utterly exhausted he had been the last time they met, Lance honestly didn't want to bother him.

Eventually Lance found himself heading to the nearest bus station, intent on simply heading home to reacquaint himself with the couch. Not many people were on campus at this time of day, meaning the bus would be equally empty. Usually Lance found empty buses eery and unsettling, but for once he looked forward to having some silence and calm surrounding him. He seriously needed time to decompress and realign himself. He _still_ felt stressed, as though the exam wasn't over yet, like it was still looming ahead, the way it had been for the past weeks.

Lance could already see his bus approaching in the distance, making him break out into a jog. Or at least he had planned to until something abruptly held him back. Glancing down, he saw a hand wrapped around his arm and looking further, he found the hand attached to a black-clad figure. "Uuuuh… can I help you?" he questioned, unable to see the person's face, since it was obscured with a hood and big sunglasses. "Wait…" Lance impulsively reached out to push up the sunglasses. "Keith?"

"Are you crazy?!" Keith immediately hissed angrily, shoving Lance's hands away to rearrange his glasses. "Why do you think I'm wearing these?"

"To look like a douchebag?" Lance had to suppress laughter seeing the frown instantly forming on Keith's face; it was like a switch being flipped. "Sorry, sorry, what's up?"

"Um…" Shuffling around somewhat awkwardly, Keith seemed to be struggling with his words. "Your uh… exam. How did that go?"

"Bad, what else?" Lance immediately replied, moodily shoving his hands into his pockets. Maybe he was imagining it, but he felt like Keith's frown deepened slightly. "I doubt you came here all disguised just to ask how my exam went. What's going on?"

After some more shuffling and clearly avoiding eye contact, Keith suddenly pulled something from the front pocket of his oversized hoodie and hastily pushed it into Lance's hands. "I don't have time. I sent Shiro to get me a coffee and he thinks I'm sleeping in the van. He'll be back soon."

"What…" Lance was momentarily distracted by Keith being so close all of a sudden, close enough he could smell the faint scent of some kind of fruity shampoo in his hair. Once Keith pulled away again, giving Lance the chance to clear his head, he examined what had been forced into his hands and found a CD. On further inspection, it seemed like one of Keith's albums. Except he had never seen this one before. "Is this some kinda special edition? Why are you giving me this? You know I don't–"

"It's the new one."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, Lance meanwhile staring at Keith with his jaw gradually dropping. "Wait… you mean… the new _new_ one? As in the one that's gonna be released _next week_?! Why are you giving this to me?"

"I don't have time, bye."

"Hey, wait!" Before Keith could rush off, Lance grabbed on to the back of his hoodie and forced himself in front of the other. "Keith!"

"Just listen to it and tell me what you think, _bye_!" With that, Keith shook off his hold and rushed off, quickly disappearing around a corner and leaving behind a very confused Lance.

Once he was done listlessly staring into the direction Keith had disappeared to, Lance realised he probably shouldn't be standing out in public with an unreleased album openly in his hand. Growing anxious, he quickly hid it inside his bag and quickly made his way to the bus stop. The entire way home, he tried making sense of Keith's actions. Lance had more than once let slip to Keith that he wasn't a huge fan of his music. Perhaps Keith wanted another opinion on his new music before it was released? But it was way too late to make any changes. The album was already on its way to distribution, so why?

No matter the reason, one thing was certain: Lance now knew what he would be doing the rest of the day.

* * *

After some quiet deliberation and frantic pacing, Lance eventually sank down onto his creaking couch with his busted up laptop on a table in front of him. Keith's album had been transferred to his hard drive long ago, his headphones plugged in and ready to go. There was no reason why he shouldn't be listening to this album already. So why was he hesitating? Lance was sitting hunched over with his chin in his hands, foot already itching to start frantically tapping against the floor again. He felt an odd mix of anxiety and excitement looking at the track list. If he leaked this, would that help or hurt his journalistic career? Would writing an article about Keith's new album a week before its official release bring him success or misfortune? Why would Keith trust him this much, _knowing_ he was a journalist? Was he being tested? Was he truly supposed to listen to this album?

Then Lance remembered Keith's awkward demeanour and his curt, yet earnest words.

_'Just listen to it and tell me what you think.'_

Keith wasn't the type of person to lie and test him Lance this. He was the type of person that opened up slowly, with a lot of effort. But once he did, he trusted you unconditionally. It was both an admirable and concerning trait. Their ambiguous relationship still felt fresh, not at all firm enough to warrant this kind of trust. To be frank, Lance was floored. It almost scared him how Keith had shifted from almost having him arrested to now trusting him with something that could cost Keith and his label literal millions in profits if Lance decided to be a dickhead and leak it. Keith giving this to an unrelated outside party was most likely in violation of some kind of contract as well. If anything happened, it would ultimately be on him.

Hands trembling, temples hot with nervous sweat, Lance eventually reached for his headphones. He let out a shaky breath when he slowly slid them over his ears. The sound of his own blood rushing through his body began echoing in his head. Lance's hand paused over his laptop, like an invisible force was holding him back, before he quite suddenly smacked the play button. There was a brief moment of silence, before a low, yet lively bass line began, almost instantly sucking Lance into a mystical realm of perpetual night. Despite it being noon and bright as day outside, Lance felt as though he had been transported to an empty bar at midnight, glancing outside to find it raining, neon signs the only thing illuminating the glistening streets. A light, airy piano soon chimed in with slow and deliberate keystrokes, Keith's voice gradually mixing in. The lyrics conveyed a sense of yearning for something far out of reach, despite their overall energetic tone. The occasional dissonant moment would always jerk Lance right back into the solemn mood. The sound of this song was something Lance hadn't expected from Keith. It was so fundamentally different from the cookie-cutter, crowd-pleasing pop of his past. It embodied taking chances and reinventing himself, all at the risk of alienating practically everyone who ever enjoyed his music. The following song was much the same. Despite its quicker tempo, more spritely kick drums and in general much more cheerful tone, it still possessed that melancholic texture. Keith sang of blacked out stars and empty city streets. Parts of the song felt strangely unruly, contrasting the much more refined moments.

Lance couldn't quite explain how, but he felt like he was getting a look into Keith's mind, the way he thought, felt and viewed the world. By the time Lance was half-way through the album, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was learning more about Keith through his music than he had in the past months by talking to him. Listening to these songs made him want to wander through a quiet, dewey forest at night, away from people, away from noise. The songs were personal, allowing the listener to tread in the pathways of Keith's mind. Even the poppier, more hard-hitting tracks had a moody, ambient tone. No amount of classy horns and reverb could hide the sheer ache and sense of being lost that lined his lyrics. Keith sang of a greedy king and two-faced princesses in one song. In another he told the tale of a lone raven trying and failing to adjust to a world of only peacocks. His lyrics came off light-hearted but clearly alluded to real life events and people. No matter how much he masked his pleas and gripes in colourful lyrics, an underlying mix of resignation and desperation always shone through. But to a casual listener who didn't care about lyrics and hidden meanings, these songs probably came off as simple bops to listen to during a chill summer party at night, with the air still warm from a day of sweltering heat and moonlight illuminating the dark. Towards the end of the album, gradually, with each song it felt like Keith's presence in the music seemed to fade. His voice began twisting into distorted synth beats or was totally overpowered by heavy EDM melodies, words growing strangely unintelligible despite being perfectly clear, fading into the music. It felt like being shut out, drifting above a bustling city at night, stuck mid-air and forced to watch the lively crowds below.

Eventually, Keith was gone. His thoughts and emotions were shut away again, for no one to perceive but him.

For a while after the final song ended, Lance simply sat in stunned silence, absolutely uncertain about what to feel or think. Slowly, he then slid off his headphones, closed his laptop and climbed into a corner of his couch. His eyes wandered to the open window, where the afternoon sun was casting odd shadows over Hunk's little succulents. An indescribably odd feeling had settled in Lance's gut. He wasn't sure if he had ever felt like this before; empty, yet chaotic. Letting his head drop back onto the top of the couch, he listlessly stared up at his ceiling.

Lance wasn't sure if he was simply feeling too many different things, so many his mind couldn't process them all at once. At the very least, he was certain that he felt guilty, sad and confused. Guilty all over again that he had written all those articles about Keith, expended energy on making someone else miserable. He felt sad that Keith had been thrust into the chaotic world of stardom seemingly not knowing what he would be getting himself into, ending up with no way out. His only two options were to simply keep going or crash and burn. Lance honestly wasn't sure anymore in which direction Keith was heading at the moment. He also felt confused over all these different warring images of Keith in his head. There was the Keith he had grown up with and also the Keith he had gotten to know over the past few months. Now, there was another Keith forming in his mind, one that was at his wits end, trying desperately to communicate but finding himself unable to. One who wanted nothing more than to disappear into a hole and never come out again. Lance felt conflicted having gotten such a profound insight into Keith's mind. Keith wasn't the type of person to share his feelings and thoughts freely. It almost seemed like he needed music as a vehicle and medium to convey what he wanted to share, what he had been _unable_ to share all these years.

Before he knew it, Lance was scrolling through his contacts, until his finger landed on Keith's name. It hovered there as Lance put a name to at least part of what he was feeling.

Heartbreak.

He felt heartbroken for Keith, for his lost childhood and youth, for his loss of a regular life. All these mysterious puzzle pieces that made up Keith and that Lance had been gathering, but unable to put together, were beginning to fall into place. They painted a clear picture. One of a young man striving for self-fulfilment in his art. Of someone living in constant fear of failing and disappointing people. Someone struggling with his desperate need to restore a sense of humanity around him, but at the same time having to be the 'celebrity' he was supposed to be. It was almost a cliche, but Lance quickly reminded himself that this wasn't a character in a book or movie. This was _Keith_ , someone he knew. Someone he cared about. More than he had ever thought.

And so Lance pressed the call button, unsure whether Keith even had time. To his surprise, he didn't have to wait long for him to pick up.

 _"Lance?"_ came a slightly out of breath voice.

"Um… hi," Lance replied, nervously fingering the slightly fringed hem of the navy hoodie he was wearing.

_"Did you listen to it?"_

Lance was surprised to hear Keith's slightly hesitant, yet expectant tone. "Yeah, I did. I…"

The question hung in the air without Keith having to say it out loud: _What did you think?_

Lance realised with a start that he had no idea how to even put into words how he felt after listening to Keith's new album. His mind was still in a chaos. Talking to Keith now suddenly felt more awkward than it had when they first began meeting up. "I… don't know what to say."

Keith did not respond.

How on earth was Lance supposed to convey what he was feeling when he didn't understand it himself? How was he supposed to give any kind of feedback on what he had heard when his own thoughts still didn't fully make sense to him? "It's really… different. I didn't expect it." Nervously rubbing at his nose, Lance got off the couch to instead begin pacing up and down his living room. One question suddenly pushed itself to the foreground of his mind, buzzing there like an annoying flickering neon sign. "Keith… are you sure you want to release an album like that?" Met with more silence, Lance couldn't help but stop next to a wall where he nervously picked at some paint that was peeling off. "It's really… you know… personal and stuff. You could…" _You could lose fans._ Gulping, Lance pushed away from the wall before he could completely dissolve the paint that was still on it. "Keith–"

_"I'm coming over."_

"Wha–"

_"Text me your address."_

Speechless, Lance could hear the rustling of clothes and general bumping around on Keith's end. "Wait– No! What if someone sees you?"

_"I'll stand somewhere on campus till you tell me where you live."_

"Keith!" Before Lance could protest any further, Keith hung up. "This fucking–" Lance had to fight down the impulse to throw his phone at a wall in anger. Luckily, he remembered in time that he still had a few monthly payments left on it.

And so Lance was left with no choice but to ultimately give Keith what he desired. Once he had sent the text detailing his address and how to get there without being seen, Lance let himself sink down into his couch, one of the springs immediately digging into his lower back. The sun was going down, so Hunk was probably taking a nap in his room – the old man that he was. Lance almost wanted to rouse him from his slumber simply to talk to someone and get another person's opinion on the whole thing. At the same time, he didn't want to make things worse for Keith by showing his leaked album to even more people.

It took Lance a few extra moments to notice just how much his heart was fluttering. It had always been him going over to Keith's place, so for him to suddenly come to him felt surreal. Until now their worlds had never clashed in that way. Having to hide from the rest of the world world had entailed meeting in totally secluded places, rarely encountering another person aside from each other. Things suddenly felt oddly real to Lance. Whatever he had with Keith had existed in some sort of separate dimension, wholly detached from every other aspect of his life. Only Hunk and Pidge knew of his friendship with the pop-star. Normally, social circles over time became interconnected, friends of friends became your friends, your friends became friends with your other friends. Not Keith. He was different. Because Lance and Keith weren't friends. They almost never met outside of Keith's house, Lance didn't know any of Keith's friends and Keith didn't know any of his. They rarely, if ever, talked about their actual private lives. That had changed only recently. Slowly, their lives were mingling.

Then what did that make them now?

Lance stayed like that for a long time, thoughts eventually drifting off until he wasn't thinking about anything in particular. He was simply staring up at his ceiling and the dark spots that looked suspiciously like mould. He was sure those hadn't been there when him and Hunk had first moved in. His heart sank a little when he even so much as considered the possibility of having to move. He would probably be fine staying even with mould, but Hunk with all his allergies would probably end up sick if they ever got a real mould problem. Neither of them had money to have it removed if it ever got that far. Naturally, moving would be even more of a nightmare financially.

An almost crushing sense of defeat suddenly washed over Lance. This was supposed to be the most exciting time of his life. He was in college, studying marine biology and working towards his dream job. He had a somewhat steady source of income and he was living on his own, independent from his family. And yet he couldn't help but feel like a failure. He was barely surviving on the little money he had, his grades were absolute garbage and he hated being in lab classes and not understanding a word of what his professors were saying. Was there even a point to all this?

A soft knock at the front door made Lance jump and almost slip off the couch. After a short moment of surprise, he remembered the situation at hand: Keith was coming over. Lance then almost stumbled over his own feet on his way to the door. For some reason he was suddenly nervous to see Keith, even though they had last met only hours before. Hand on the door handle, Lance took in a small breath, before finally swinging the door open. A wave of cold immediately swept inside, pooling at his feet and climbing up his legs that were only covered in a pair of thin sweatpants.

"Hi," Keith quietly greeted him, a snow-white cloud of air escaping his mouth. He seemed slightly out of breath, face flushed just the tiniest bit. His dark hair was as dishevelled as ever, but somehow still looked more unruly than usual.

Speechless, Lance simply stepped aside and invited Keith in with a wave of his hand. He wasn't exactly sure how to act or what to say. He didn't even know why Keith was here to begin with. He awkwardly stood there holding on to the door for support, legs feeling strangely light, before finally pushing the door closed. As soon as he took a look at Keith, he could see anxiety hidden in those dark eyes. He had now known Keith long enough to be able to pick up on the subtle shifts in his face. He wasn't expressionless; not in the way people accused him of being. It simply took a while to be able to read him.

"You have a pet?"

Brought back to reality by the sound of Keith's unusually quiet and soft voice, Lance shot a look of confusion at the other. "What?"

Instead of answering, Keith simply pointed at a small bowl with crumbs of something left inside. It innocently sat on the floor right next to where Keith stood. "Oh, that," Lance eventually mumbled. "There's this stray cat that just wanders around and somehow gets into everyone's apartments and steals food. We're all so used to it now that a lot of us just put a bowl with food down so it won't tear up everything trying to find something to eat. Every other day you just come home and the bowl is empty."

"How do you know it's a cat and not something else?"

To busy himself and have something to do with his hands, Lance opened the fridge to take out the little container of homemade cat food Hunk always prepared. "There's this black cat that sometimes strolls around the area, so the black hair it leaves on our couch is a pretty big giveaway." The entire time they were talking and even when he knelt down to spoon some food into the cat bowl, Lance could never bring himself to look at Keith again. He felt a strange tension that made it impossible to meet his eyes. Like suddenly even looking at Keith's face in person was too much to bear.

"So um…"

Immediately, Lance knew what Keith was going to say. Sighing under his breath, he slowly got back to his feet, put the cat food back in the fringe and finally mustered up the courage to meet Keith's dark gaze. "I'm not sure what you want to hear from me, Keith. I'm not a music critic or some kind of audio expert. I can't really give you helpful feedback on your album."

Keith was lightly shaking his head all throughout each of Lance's words. "That's not what I want. I just… want to know what you think about it."

Crossing his arms, Lance leaned against his kitchen counter and shot another perplexed look at the other. "I mean… it's something else, you know." Slightly taken aback by how intensely Keith was watching his every movement and listening to each word that fell from his lips with the utmost attention, Lance slowly uncrossed his arms and began absent-mindedly fidgeting with his fingers. "It's a pretty big departure from everything else you've done before. Definitely feels like you're a different person now and making an effort to somehow let people know that. Those songs are…" Lance racked his brain for a good way of explaining how the music had made him feel, what it had made him think, "they're really… intimate." Eventually, when Lance didn't say anything else, Keith nodded slowly. Lance's eyes snapped to Keith's mouth where he was biting his lips in an agitated manner, briefly sending his mind down the gutter. "They're good."

Keith perked up immediately, eyes widening as he stared at Lance with nothing but surprise shining on his face. "You–… Really?"

Nodding slowly, Lance finally found a way to put into words at least one aspect of what he felt. "I wasn't sure what to expect, but you definitely made something interesting." Pausing to recall all the different places Keith's music had taken him to, Lance slowly began to smile. "It's really different from everything else on the market right now. It seems really… genuine. Like this is the kind of music only you could possibly make. Listening to it feels special. I'm kinda proud of you, you know." Lance would have gone on, had he not seen the expression on Keith's face.

After months of Keith schooling his expressions, hiding his true thoughts and feelings, this was the first time every single thought that ran through his mind was laid bare on his face. An entire array of emotions pooled in his eyes, ranging from shock to happiness to relief to excitement. He seemed speechless, too occupied with processing Lance's many words of praise.

"Thanks," he eventually murmured breathlessly, his slightly hoarse voice barely audible. For a moment, his gaze dipped down to the floor, a sombre look on his face. He seemed to be battling with something. With himself. "Lance–"

A door suddenly opened and both their heads snapped towards the movement.

"Oh, Hunk," Lance pushed away from the kitchen counter to walk towards Hunk and meet him halfway. Hunk hadn't noticed Keith just yet, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Did we wake you up?"

Finally, it registered in Hunk's mind that someone else was there and after rubbing at his eyes, he searched the room until his gaze landed on Keith. "Oh…" he simply mumbled quietly, before his eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh!" Eyes snapping to Lance briefly, Hunk then hesitantly approached the pop-star. "Hi, I'm Hunk. You probably don't remember me but we went to school together."

"Oh no, I remember you," Keith immediately countered, accepting Hunk's hand to shake it, a small smile on his face. "You always brought baked stuff to school." When Hunk responded with a slightly embarrassed grin, it seemed impossible for Keith not to brighten up as well. "Sorry for suddenly coming over. It's probably weird for you to have a stranger in your place."

Immediately, Hunk shook his head with a big grin. "Nah, don't worry about it. Lance talks about you so much, you really don't seem like a stranger at all. It's like he spends every waking moment just–"

Before he could go on any further, Lance had covered his mouth and was in the process of pushing him back into his room. "Thanks for coming out to say hi, my dude, but it's way past your bedtime, good night!" He slammed the door to Hunk's room shut once he had shoved him inside and could hear his friend giggling to himself on the other side. His entire face now flaming hot, it took him some courage to meet Keith's eyes again. And when he did, it suddenly felt like all the tension and awkwardness that had built up between them evaporated into thin air.

Keith was clearly fighting down a smile, cheeks and the bridge of his nose slightly flushed as he tried hiding his face by turning away from Lance.

Seeing that, Lance was suddenly glad for his deeper skin tone, otherwise he would have been red as a tomato, probably glowing bright enough you could spot him from Mars. He tried fruitlessly to disappear into his baggy hoodie, especially when Keith's dark eyes slid over to him and he saw the most relaxed and pleased look on the guy's face. Keith suddenly sauntered towards him and for a moment, Lance thought he was going to hug him, but the pop-star kept his hands in his pockets. Nonetheless, Lance could feel his heart beat just a little faster, the air sizzling with a certain electricity. He was suddenly hyper-aware of how strangely Keith was dressed yet again. He looked like he had gone on a trip through a random stranger's closet and stumbled out before having the chance to even look at what he was wearing. His long black coat fit him a bit oddly, his black and white band shirt seemed too long and his jewel green sweatpants were pooling weirdly over his torn up Converse. He had probably been lounging at home and had simply thrown on a random jacket and shoes to come over. "What is it?" Lance eventually asked him once Keith was close enough he could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"I never realised you have freckles."

Taken aback by the unexpected statement, Lance searched Keith's face to see if he was joking. But he wasn't. "Um… they used to be more intense when I was a kid." His voice was quiet, even though he didn't intend for it to be. He simply couldn't help but speak in a hushed tone with Keith staring at him so intensely. Lance was leaning against the kitchen counter, technically backed into a corner with someone in front of him. So when Keith reached out towards him, he briefly had an impulse to run away. But he didn't. He let Keith grasp a strand of his hair, fingertips briefly brushing over his scalp and sending shivers all the way down his spine like small fireworks.

"And your hair's gotten longer," Keith continued, fingers brushing through Lance's hair until his fingertips settled on Lance's neck.

Lance couldn't even reply anymore. He had lost the ability to produce words, silenced by how close Keith was, close enough he could smell the faint clean smell drifting from his clothes. He anticipated it, but Keith leaning in for a kiss still startled him. When their lips met, he was so shocked he didn't even react at first. It took him a moment to relax and respond, eventually melting into the kiss. Keith's lips were soft but slightly dry, which didn't even register consciously in Lance's mind since he was too occupied by the hand slowly snaking up his side. The touches were light and careful, before a hand settled firmly on his back to pull him even closer. Not one to be man-handled without a word, Lance responded by reaching up to grasp Keith's head and pull him in for a much deeper kiss. The taste of his breath reminded Lance of forests in a summer night, warm but refreshing. The smell of the crisp night air still lingered on Keith's skin.

Even in the brief times their lips separated, there was never a moment where Lance could relax. Keith was intense, hands constantly brushing over his body in subtle ways, his slight frame suddenly all-encompassing. He would pull away briefly, only to dive back in with newfound fervour. Lance almost couldn't keep up. His breathing grew more and more laboured with time, small moans beginning to escape him. Each time he managed to coax similar noises of pleasure out of Keith, a euphoric storm of endorphins rushed through his body like a tidal wave. Lance felt strange. Safe, yet on edge, relaxed but intensely heated. He couldn't make sense of his own mind yet again. All he knew for sure was that he greatly enjoyed running his fingers along Keith's shoulder blades because each time it would make the other's breath falter and his back tremble without fail.

When Lance could feel himself grow light-headed, he parted from Keith and with some pride took in the absolutely dishevelled pop-star: face flushed, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen, he looked absolutely delectable. Lance wanted nothing more than to go back to what they were just doing, but alas, he simply had to say something. "Why?" was all he could manage, voice breathy and laden heavily with lust.

For a moment, Keith seemed to search his face while he bit at his lips in an agitated matter. Eventually, he simply shrugged. "Just felt like it." His eyes quickly snapped to Hunk's room, before they settled on Lance again. "Good enough?"

One hand still buried in Keith's messy hair, Lance gave himself a few seconds to think, ignoring just how much he truly wanted to have Keith on him again. Quite quickly, he came to a conclusion: there had never been a clear-cut way to define their relationship, so why start now?

Instead of responding to Keith with words, Lance simply pulled him in for another kiss, heart still fluttering and legs feeling lighter and weaker with each second. Especially when Keith wrapped an arm around his lower back to pull him in and their fronts ended up flush against each other. Lance almost forgot to breathe.

 _This is fine_ , Lance told himself. There was no deeper relationship in jeopardy here.

They weren't friends after all.

* * *

 Quite a lot of time passed before Lance got to see Keith again. With his new album releasing, an endless amount of work came with it: interviews, live performances, television appearances, preparing an entire tour for the coming year, all things that gave him zero room to breathe. At least until some scheduling issues led to Keith having the first half of his day off, which he promptly took advantage of to call up Lance and invite him to the dance studio he was practicing at. That's how Lance ended up in an unfamiliar part of town again, in a place where people casually parked their unbelievably expensive cars openly in front of stores and in dark side-streets without fear of anyone stealing them. Lance couldn't relate. He couldn't even let packages sit in front of his door unsupervised for a bit without some dickhead almost instantly stealing them.

Eyes constantly jumping back and forth between his surroundings and the map on his phone, Lance made his way past high-end stores and restaurants with desserts more expensive than a weeks-worth of his lunches. He sighed to himself a little when he eventually came to a stop in front of a bright red high-rise building, its countless windows polished to perfection. Still hesitant, Lance begrudgingly made his way inside. This time there was no reception or a person waiting for Lance's arrival. He simply took the relatively plain elevator up to the twelfth floor as soothing music quietly flowed from speakers. The second he stepped out of the elevator and into a narrow hallway with deep purple walls, Lance could feel the thrum of music through the floor. Once the elevator door closed behind him, the sound of movement and stomping mingled into the sensation, making him certain of what he was hearing. His interest officially piqued, Lance wandered towards the origin of the noise, finding a door towards the end of the corridor that was slightly ajar. A sliver of light streamed out from inside, which only made him even more curious. Carefully, as to not alert whoever was inside, Lance opened the door until he could peak inside without being discovered.

The room was surprisingly small even with an entire wall being covered in a big mirror, which already gave the illusion of more space. Lance instantly felt a prick of annoyance at how immediate his body's response was to seeing Keith again after so long. The second he saw him going through a set of well practiced dance moves, eyes intensely focused on his reflection in the mirror, Lance's chest tingled warmly with a multitude of emotions that he had a hard time fully parsing through. His eyes were quickly drawn to the beads of sweat rolling down Keith's face, some flying off as he moved while others slid all the way down his neck, then disappeared into his red hoodie. He looked exhausted. Even when the song changed and there was a brief pause, he was still moving, repeating certain moves over and over again. He was constantly schooling his expressions to give off whatever vibe he needed for a given song; it was honestly fascinating. It made Lance realise that in a way singers had to be able to act as well. Singing with emotions and feeling meant nothing if there was no expression to match. To think Keith even practiced when to sneak in a smirk or suggestive glance was slightly unbelievable.

Lance finally found the resolve to fully open the door and step inside. Somewhat sheepishly, he met Keith's eyes when he stopped in his tracks to look at him with a surprised look.

"Oh!" Keith then exclaimed, hastily jogging to a laptop and pausing the music. "For a second I forgot you were coming."

If not for the smile in Keith's voice, Lance would have been a little offended. "You're the one that called me here, you airhead."

"Sorry, sorry." Once the music was off, Keith froze in the middle of the room, seemingly remembering under what circumstances they had last seen each other.

After making out in Lance's kitchen, they had simply said their good-byes and Keith had left without another word. Both had needed their solitary moments to process things. Then, with Keith so busy, there had never been time to talk things through, so now neither quite knew how to act.

Lance could see that Keith was slightly unsure of himself, hesitant to approach him on his own. Gulping, Lance instead approached him first, stopping so close to him he could see the faint horizontal scar that ran across his neck. It was too light to really be noticeable under normal circumstances, but under the bright lights of the practice room, its odd texture stood out on Keith's otherwise smooth skin. Instinctively, Lance reached up to lightly settle a hand on the other's neck, chest instantly growing warm when Keith leaned into the touch. Lance didn't have to ask to know what the scar was from. Just about anyone who had ever researched Keith in any way knew about the car accident that had almost cost him his life. The entire story truly sounded like something only script a writer for an afternoon soap opera would come up with.

The day it had happened, Lance had been on his way home from school, struggling with the cold of a particularly harsh winter. Suddenly, his group chat had exploded with activity. The news of Shiro and Keith getting hit by a truck while driving to a dance competition had spread through school stunningly fast. Soon enough, class group chats had devolved into digging up every single news article about the accident, discussing the exact circumstances of the crash, arguing about the truck driver who had lost control on the slippery roads. Because of that, Lance perhaps knew more about the accident than even the two people actually involved.

As Lance softly traced his thumb over the scar, he had the fleeting thought that perhaps it was a constant reminder for Keith that his dreams could easily be crushed within seconds. People you think will be there forever can vanish from your life forever without you ever seeing it coming. Lance could hear it in the way Keith acted every time he spoke of or with Shiro. Somewhere in him he _still_ wanted to make music with Shiro. Keith had been supposed to be just the singer and Shiro the musician, the instrument guy and song writer. But with Shiro's leg and arm the way they were because of the accident, it simply wasn't possible. Now Keith had to do it all himself. Although Shiro was his manager, it probably wasn't how Keith wanted to work with him.

"You lost weight," Lance suddenly noted quietly, eyes trained on the faint gauntness of Keith's face. "Are you eating?" Keith tried turning away from him, from the question, but Lance grasped him by the shoulders to make him look at him. "You need to eat! Did you at least eat breakfast? You've probably been in here for hours!"

With a frown plastered across his face, Keith grabbed Lance's arms to push him away moodily. "I'm fine," he grumbled.

Lance could only shoot a suspicious and frustrated look at the other, deciding not to push Keith further, least he would only annoy him until he got shut out completely. "Can I borrow that laptop over there?"

Slightly caught off guard by the sudden change of topic, Keith's expression quickly shifted from an exasperated frown to a look of surprise. "Uh… sure? It's part of the equipment here, so go crazy, I guess."

Still somewhat peeved about how little Keith seemed to care for his own health, Lance made his way to the table in the far corner of the room. He pulled a chair up to the table to sit down, before getting to work.

"What're you doing?" Keith eventually asked.

While he confirmed that the laptop's webcam and microphone worked, a sheepish smile formed on Lance's face. "I video chat with my abuélo on Saturdays. He doesn't live here so that's the only way I can talk to him."

"Oh…" Keith simply replied, voice quiet. "I didn't know."

Hearing the regretful tone, Lance turned to find Keith wearing a frown, arms crossed. "It's not a big deal. I told him that I might not have time today. I have a laptop now though, so it's fine!" A small grin curled his lips when he watched Keith simply nod while avoiding eye contact. A moment later, he was calling his grandfather, an excited smile already taking over his face before he could even hear or see anything. As usual, it took a while for anything to appear on his monitor. But eventually, he could hear the usual rustling and commotion of his grandfather trying to figure out his computer. Silent, he waited patiently until the camera turned on and he could actually see something. Keith had settled on the floor to his right, sitting cross-legged while sipping on a water bottle. Lance would have yelled at him and told him to actually eat something if not for his grandfather. "Abuélo!" he greeted him once he could see him. Just as he threw up his hands to talk, his eyes fell on Keith who was already looking at him strangely. "Oh yeah, forgot to mention, but my abuélo's deaf so I use sign language with him."

"Oh, okay," was all Keith said in response, suddenly looking frozen.

Meanwhile, Lance was busy signing to his grandfather. " _How's your leg?_ " he asked him in Spanish, fondness spreading in his chest when he watched his grandfather squinting at his monitor. " _Put on your glasses!_ " He knew his grandfather couldn't hear him, but Lance couldn't help but raise his voice slightly; after all, without his glasses his grandfather couldn't make out what Lance was signing to him. Laughing to himself, Lance opted to instead type out his message, then wait until his grandfather finally began his search for his glasses. As he did so, his eyes fell on Keith again, who looked to be busying himself with his phone. "Hey…" he called out to the pop-star, waiting until Keith raised his head to meet his eyes. "Wanna talk to him?"

"Uh…" Totally caught off guard, Keith didn't respond for quite a while, gears seemingly turning in his head. "You sure?"

Lance nodded enthusiastically and didn't even give Keith a chance to second-guess anything. Instead, he reached down to grab Keith's arm and pull him up so he was standing next to him. Luckily, his grandfather finally showed up in front of the camera again with his glasses on and a big happy grin on his face. Immediately, he noticed the new person next to Lance and wasted no time asking who he was. " _He's a friend,_ " Lance replied. " _His name is K-E-I-T-H._ " Lance almost burst out laughing when, upon his grandfather excitedly waving in greeting, Keith sputtered and struggled to respond somehow. "Keith, just type it out," he chuckled, watching with a grin as Keith nervously scrambled to give his grandfather some kind of reply. When the two began having an actual conversation, Lance had to translate back and forth between them, since his grandfather barely knew English. At some point his grandfather asked what his friend did and in response Keith seemed a little clueless as to how to even reply. Usually people knew who he was, so when he tried explaining his profession without coming off as too arrogant, Lance's grandfather seemed to only vaguely understand.

The three talked about an entire array of things this way, somehow making things work despite the clear language barriers. Lance had seen Keith perform in humongous arenas filled with thousands of people, appear on live television where an entire country and more watched him, and yet he seemed more nervous in front of his grandfather than he had ever seen him before.

It took at least an hour before his grandfather finally said his goodbyes, leaving Lance happy and Keith still a bit of a nervous wreck. As soon as Lance shut the laptop, Keith slumped to the floor next to him, limbs splaying out in all directions. "That wasn't bad, was it?"

Keith instantly shot an incredulous look at him. "I don't know what it is, but your grandfather is really scary to talk to. It's like… you don't wanna disappoint him by saying anything wrong, so…"

Lance watched Keith struggle to make sense of his own thoughts. Then, suddenly, he remembered that Keith probably hadn't grown up with grandparents of any kind, considering he had grown up in foster care. The way someone like that made you feel was probably a totally foreign thing to him. "Grandparents are like that," he eventually explained. "They're not like your parents who have to be strict and raise you. They're the ones you go to when you break your dad's lawn mower and you're too scared to fess up about it. You go to them cause you know they'll have your back. Something like that."

Eyes narrowing, Keith simply stared at Lance for a moment. "That makes no sense." Pausing to sit up on the floor and make himself slightly more comfortable, Keith's expression then morphed into one of curiosity. "How did you break your dad's lawn mower?"

"That was a hypothetical situation!" Feeling Keith's doubtful eyes on him, Lance quickly yielded. "I drove over the cable with it." He heard a badly suppressed snort of laughter, but when he snapped his head around to look at Keith, the other looked totally stone-faced, like he hadn't just been about to laugh.

"I'm gonna keep practicing," Keith said instead, picking himself up off the floor and momentarily taking the laptop from Lance to put on music. "You can join me, if you want. Although you probably can't keep up."

Not one to back down from a challenge, especially one from Keith, Lance instantly perked up. "Hey, I'm a genius dancer! I'd demolish you in a dance battle!" Feeling something twist warmly in his chest at the sound of Keith's amused laughter, Lance continued prattling on. "Look here, let me teach you something, Mr. Worldwide Star." Leaving his chair to stand beside Keith, Lance struck a pose that hopefully looked somewhat imposing. "Now, this is probably a dance move you've never seen before. It's called the _Sprinkler."_

"Oh my god."

Under Keith's for sure awestruck gaze, Lance proceeded to demonstrate similarly iconic dance moves, eventually going down an entire list of things he had seen his dad do during family gatherings, explaining each one along with its history in detail. "Now this is a signature move of the McClain family. We call it the _Papacito_ cause our dad hates it when we call it that. Basically you just dance like you're drunk but still trying to convince your wife you're not, so you don't get nagged at. Walking into a wall and cursing at it somewhere towards the end is a key point." Lance was about to continue with his display of lame dad dance moves, when he noticed the contemplative look in Keith's eyes. He went silent, eyes focusing on Keith and prompting the other to meet his eyes.

Keith seemed to notice the unasked question that hung in the air, eliciting a small sigh. "I kinda… really wanna see your dad do the Papacito," he admitted with a sheepish smile.

Lance could feel a rush of heat wash over his body hearing Keith saying even a single word in his mother tongue so perfectly. It instantly brought him back to that fateful concert that had started this entire thing to begin with. Evidently, he now was probably even weaker to Keith speaking any kind of language other than English, especially when it was one he had grown up hearing. "You can," Lance replied after a while, noting the not fully concealed surprise that flashed over Keith's face. "Just… come along when I visit my family for Christmas. Cuba is kinda uh… weird about Christmas, but we still celebrate it."

Seemingly speechless at first, it took Keith a few extra seconds to respond. "Sure. If I have time."

Unable to hide the happy smile that soon bloomed on his face, Lance quickly turned away to hide it. "I'll uh… I'll just watch you from over here," he rambled as he sat back down at the table with the laptop. He figured his heart would eventually settle down, stop thumping like it had suddenly doubled in size. But as Lance watched Keith continue practicing, their eyes meeting in the mirrors every now and then, it never did.

Still, even after everything that had happened, Lance wasn't sure what to call his relationship with Keith. Now more than ever, no definition seemed to quite fit. Friends didn't typically make out with each other passionately in kitchens. On the other hand, lovers usually didn't feel awkward for weeks after a kiss or totally break off contact for months because one party was simply too busy. After deliberating like that for a while, Lance eventually came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. He didn't have to put a label on his relationship with Keith. He decided to simply enjoy the ride, regardless of where it took him.

It didn't matter whether or not they were friends.

* * *

Lance felt odd sitting at his table eating breakfast at almost 11 a.m. After months of having a constant workload, suddenly having a day off with nothing to do felt beyond strange. A sense of unease was settled deep within his gut, he was restless. Lance must have been sitting there picking at his sandwich for a good ten minutes before he finally gave up. "Hunk, let's go do something."

Hunk was sitting on the couch watching TV, totally engrossed in some kind of reality show, but eventually tore his eyes away from the screen to look at his friend. "Like what?"

Shrugging, Lance took one last bite out of his half eaten sandwich, then wrapped it up in some foil and put it back in the fridge. "Dunno, go watch a movie or something? I'll go crazy if I stay here all day."

"We just went to the aquarium yesterday, dude," Hunk whined, clearly comfortable and content exactly where he was.

"Yeah, but…" A thought hit Lance in that moment, making him rush towards Hunk on the couch in a haste. "Keith's gonna be on TV."

"What?" Hunk begrudgingly let Lance take the remote and change the channel, a disgruntled pout forming on his face. "Why do you suddenly care? You've never watched anything with Keith in it."

Shrugging, Lance aimlessly flipped through channels searching for the right one. "He texted me earlier and told me to watch this live morning show he'll be on. I don't know why." He could already see the giddiness entering Hunk's eyes.

"Is he gonna confess his love to you on national television?" he immediately said in a mockingly sweet tone.

"Shut up, he won't." Lance finally found the right channel – or so he hoped – and shot a mildly annoyed frown at the other. "He'd ruin his career."

Before Hunk could continue teasing him, a jingle announced the start of the morning show, rendering them both silent. The hosts were a bubbly blond woman and an almost equally upbeat young man. Lance could easily imagine Shiro having to forcibly drag Keith into that studio like a moody stray cat just to promote his new album. Luckily, Lance didn't have to wait for too long to see the real deal. The hosts wrapped up their introductory chit-chatting and proceeded to introduce Keith to the show. His entrance was met with loud enthusiasm from the audience, a languid smile on his lips as sat him down on a chair across from the hosts. They both began asking him questions over some breakfast foods laid out on the table between them. As per usual, any time he wasn't talking, Keith's expression returned to its neutral state, which was a permanent resting murder face. Due to this exact resting murder face, over the years news outlets had already published such a large volume of headlines about Keith's supposed rudeness and arrogant attitude, that by now they had almost stopped bothering. It was an open secret that Keith despised public appearances like this with a passion and would sometimes even sabotage himself just to get out of it. The worst instance of this probably had been the time Keith had refused to answer any questions in general, simply staring the interviewer down until the poor guy conceded and awkwardly conversed with himself to fill the dead air.

"So he wanted you to see this?" Hunk eventually asked, perplexed. "Him rattling off a script to promote his album?"

Lance simply shrugged, finding himself only mildly intrigued. None of what the hosts were asking was new or interesting enough for him to care. He could see in Keith's face that he had already mentally checked out of the interview as well. You can only ask a guy about his past scandals and fake girlfriends so many times before it gets old. Lance was honestly in awe over Keith somehow still managing to come off somewhat professional. After a while Lance found himself totally zoned out. The interview seemed to be nearing its end, with Keith beginning to simply deflect questions entirely, giving clear signs that he was over it. A year ago Lance would have rushed to his computer to write a heated rant piece about Keith's impossible attitude. Now he could see the entertainment value in it. He could see why, despite his attitude, Keith was still very much in demand for things like this. Keith was incredibly entertaining to watch once you understood his character.

Suddenly, Lance was snapped out of his train of thoughts when he noticed an oddly deliberate hand movement from Keith. It was clumsy and difficult to truly read, but definitely recognisable. "He's signing something."

Hunk's head instantly snapped to Lance, eyes filled with confusion. "What?"

"Look!" His every sense now honing in on every little thing Keith said, Lance waited. And waited. "There! He did it again!"

"What's he saying!"

"Uh…" Scratching his head, Lance had to really dig through his knowledge of sign language to even decipher what Keith was doing. He was clearly trying to sign things secretly, masking his signs within other hand motions. "I only know Cuban sign language, so I don't– Wait…" Eyes narrowing, Lance got off the couch to sit directly in front of the TV, to _really_ see what was going on with Keith's hands. Every flick of his wrist, every bend of his fingers Lance watched with the eyes of a hawk. Until he finally saw the thing that made it clear what Keith was saying.

"And?" Hunk could tell Lance had figured something out.

Lance let out a defeated sigh, got off the floor and slumped to the couch, where he let himself drop into the space next to Hunk. In response, the rickety couch let out a creaky whine. "I fucking hate him." Lance could feel Hunk's curious eyes boring into him, demanding answers. "He was using Cuban sign language. Horribly." Sinking even deeper into the couch, Lance draped an arm over his eyes. "I'll have to ask him what he was trying to sign when I see him next time, but it seems like he was saying–" Stopping himself to not let out a chuckle, Lance couldn't quite fight down the smile in his voice, " _Suck my tits._ "

Hunk suddenly ejected himself from the couch to power-walk away to the kitchen and then crumble to the floor giggling. Meanwhile, Lance didn't want to reward Keith's little secret message with even so much as a grin, but he couldn't deny that laughter wanted to escape him. If anyone could somehow sneak a sentence like that into an innocent morning show without anyone even noticing, it was Keith. Despite his exasperation, Lance couldn't help but feel pride for him. Once again he was astonished at how quickly Keith could pick up new things. Yes, his signing had been mediocre at best, but it had still been good enough for Lance to be able to decipher it.

When the show hosts finally tensely bid their farewells from their guest, Lance all of a sudden realised that Keith had gone out of his way for the sole purpose of making a single person laugh. He didn't have much of a practical use for Cuban sign language in his everyday life, meaning he had spent time learning something that only one person in his life would understand. It made Lance feel all tingly and warm inside, his body suddenly feeling light.

If Lance could have sunk even further into the couch, he would have. He could feel his entire face growing hot just looking at Keith walking off the set in those tight black jeans, making Lance want to jump into a hole and never come out. He suddenly wanted to see Keith in person so badly, he could hardly think about anything else. Usually if someone felt this way, they could call the person and probably meet with them within the same week, or even the following. Not with Keith. With his new album out, unless the meeting was scheduled three to four weeks in advance, he rarely had time for anything. Unless Keith's schedule randomly freed up for whatever reason and Lance just so happened to be available, they hardly ever saw each other. It hadn't been much of a problem when before all they had been doing was watching bad horror movies and eating stale popcorn on Keith's couch, but now things were different.

Lance could feel a deep yearning within himself, a need to be around Keith. A need to simply be with him and watch him attempting to sign things clumsily, perhaps having an actual conversation with him like that eventually. A need to not have to turn on a TV just to see his face.

That he felt this way only reinforced what Lance had known all along: he couldn't be friends with Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well whoops, this was pretty late again. My updates are getting slower and slower, it seems like. I got into a bit of a slump (that I'm actually still not quite over yet) and also hurt my hand, so the next chapter might take a while again. But even if it takes me a while, I'll definitely upload it eventually.
> 
> Let me know what you think! This chapter was difficult to get out, so I'm really looking forward to any feedback.


	4. Pre-Chorus

Sitting in an uncomfortable, creaky chair, Lance's eyes were trained on a fogged up window, snow peacefully drifting to the ground outside. It hovered down in fluffy little clumps, covering everything in a sheet of pure white. Lance let out a sigh when he remembered that he didn't own a proper winter jacket, hence why he was currently only wearing an oversized sweatshirt. He could already feel a cold or even flu creeping its way into his system just looking at how ice was forming along the edges of that window.

The door to the small office then swung open with a creak. A man in his forties stepped inside and, with a sigh, took a seat at the desk Lance was sitting in front of. "Thanks for coming, Lance."

Unable to truly muster up a greeting or even smile, Lance only pressed his lips together and nodded at the professor.

"I guess you know why I called you here."

Lance couldn't even look up. Making eye contact felt like it would make things too real. Somewhere in his mind he still wanted to pretend this wasn't happening. And so he simply nodded again, to which he got a small sigh as response.

"Well… I don't think I have to tell you that it's not looking good," his professor began hesitantly, fidgeting with his hands on top of the desk. "You can retake your tests and if you really want to, I won't stop you from going into the new semester. But especially this semester I could see how much you were struggling. Lab classes especially seemed to give you a lot of trouble. I can tell you're trying your hardest, but…"

"I'm not cut out for marine biology."

"I wouldn't say _that_ ," his professor immediately asserted. "You can repeat this semester or maybe get a tutor. There are other possibilities aside from–"

"Sorry, but I don't see the point. If me trying my hardest doesn't get me passing grades, what else am I supposed to do other than give up?" Finally, Lance raised his head to focus a helpless gaze on his professor. "What could I have possibly done differently?"

His professor held his gaze for a moment, before his eyes dropped to the desk. "Lance, please at least sleep on it for a while and really think this through. Dropping out of college is a very big decision to make. Please don't make it rashly."

"I will," Lance replied quietly, making to leave. "Thanks." Hearing his professor mumble a quiet goodbye, Lance exited the office and quickly made his way home. He didn't want to be around people at the moment. All he wanted was to just wrap himself in a ridiculous amount of soft blankets and watch a dumb reality show for the rest of the day. Lance then felt an incredibly powerful need for something warm and comforting to chow down on. It would brighten his day at least a little; maybe he could convince Hunk to make him one of those sinfully delicious Hawaiian burgers drenched in gravy.

Having barely scraped by again and again each semester, Lance had been starting to think that perhaps making it through to the end wasn't impossible. Now, reality was kicking in. He had royally messed up his exams despite weeks of studying. Answers he had been so sure about had been totally wrong, the things he had had to guess on had been countless. Even right after the exam a bad feeling had settled in his guts, but usually it had turned out to be wrong. Not this time. Sure, he could repeat the semester, but that would put an immense financial strain on him; so much so that he wasn't sure if it would be worth it. Was this really where he had to give up? Was this the point where he would have to crawl back to his parents after making such a huge scene about being independent and not needing them anymore? His father would probably be fine with it, but his mother hadn't talked to him face to face in at least half a year now. She was a stubborn lady and if she was angry, she could stay angry probably forever. To this day she still held a mild grudge against her elementary school classmate who never returned the pen she borrowed from her. And yet Lance could tell it was hard on her too, since she still couldn't resist texting him the occasional 'Are you doing okay?' every now and then. In a way, Lance felt as though she was testing him, cutting off contact like that and letting him dive off the deep end. It was a bit of a shock after years of her doting on him, barely letting him do anything on his own, never wanting him out of her sight for long. And so above all else, Lance wanted to desperately prove to her that he could make it on his own, that she didn't have to spend every waking moment worrying about him.

If he went back home now, it wouldn't just be disappointing to his parents, but most of all, to himself.

After texting Hunk and finding out that he was going to be at a seminar for a couple more hours, Lance decided to just go buy a box of mac and cheese for himself. He hadn't even told Hunk about his situation yet. It was already difficult enough feeling inadequate for failing his tests, but living with an actual genius who was just breezing towards his Bachelor's degree with ease made it even worse. He was proud of Hunk and happy for his success, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel like a complete blockhead next to him sometimes. He didn't know if he could ever tell him that he might drop out of college. And if he was honest with himself, Lance was most jealous of how much joy engineering brought to Hunk. He couldn't relate to that.

Lance entered the grocery store with a small sigh leaving him. It was still snowing heavily and the air outside was incredibly frigid. He only realised how cold he really was was when warm air suddenly engulfed him and he could feel the cold coming off his own skin. His entire body was shaking, prompting him to hug himself and rub at his arms to warm himself up even more. Maybe it was time to finally invest in an actual winter coat. If he didn't have to spend more money on another semester, he would have quite a bit of money to spend anyway.

As he headed towards the pasta and rice section, Lance found himself in a daze, already mentally going through the things he would do in case he dropped out. Would he even tell his parents? For how long could he survive on writing alone? He would probably have to find an extra part-time job, wouldn't he? These questions were flying through his mind when he arrived in front of the different brands of mac and cheese. Even though to outsiders it seemed like he was very carefully picking out the exact type he wanted, he was actually so deep in thought that for a moment, he forgot why he was even there.

"Isn't that him?"

The hushed voice only entered Lance's perception on a subconscious level, audible but not quite registering consciously.

"Probably not. Why would he just go to a public place like this right after what happened."

"Yeah, you're right."

Slowly coming back to reality, Lance finally picked out the box of mac and cheese he wanted and was about to make his way to the register.

"He sure does look like the guy Keith was with though."

Lance almost dropped the box in his hand. He momentarily faltered, before he caught himself and continued on his way. He felt as though a rug had been pulled out underneath him. His ears were ringing slightly, his mind totally blank all of a sudden.

"Hey, he's leaving!"

Lance was sure of it: those two girls were following him. They were trying to be quiet and conspicuous, but failing miserably. They clearly didn't understand just how much their voices were carrying and how incredibly unsubtle they were being.

"Look at the photo again! He's even wearing the same sweatshirt and everything!"

"Wait, really?"

Gulping, Lance could feel his heart violently beating in chest, hard enough it made him feel lightheaded. Cold sweat broke out on his skin as he stood in line at the cash register. Suddenly, he was afraid of anyone looking at him. He lowered his head, burrowing into his sweatshirt, fearful someone else might recognise him.

"If it's really him, I can't believe he'd show himself just out in public after all the shit he did. I'd be too ashamed to leave the house if I were him."

"Shhh, he might hear you!"

"Let him! He should know he's a piece of shit."

Lance's entire body felt hot, his lungs too small. He wanted so badly to just run out of the store and leave the damn mac and cheese behind, but in that moment the person in front of him finished paying and made to leave. Now that it was his turn, Lance couldn't so much as look at the cashier, finding himself unable to even return the polite greeting. He was shaking again, but not from the cold.

"Have a good day," the cashier mumbled unenthusiastically, finally giving Lance the okay to bolt.

Hastily grabbing his purchase, Lance dashed out of the store and back into the cold. He could still hear the girls blabbering behind him, but the thunder of his own chaotic thoughts and emotions was too loud to understand what they were saying. Once outside, he fumbled to get his phone out, struggling to type out the words that would give him an answer to this mess. A quick search made things all too real: photos of him and Keith together in different locations had been released somehow. Keith and him in front of his college, from the day he had gotten the CD. Photos from when they had hung out at the dance studio, going in twenty minutes apart. A single blurry photo of Keith heading into his apartment complex. It was undeniable that they had some sort of relationship. On first glance, it didn't seem like anyone knew the exact nature of their relationship, but the secrecy over it was certainly raising flags for quite a lot of people. But that wasn't the worst part.

Lance was sure he had deleted them. It had been months. And yet in almost every bit of media coverage he could find, he was met with quotes from his old hateful articles about Keith. His own scathing words were staring back at him, back from the ether to haunt him. Apparently, they had been cached. Once his blog had been found, everything he had ever written was easily recoverable, regardless of whether he had deleted it or not.

Finding it difficult to scroll through his contacts with how much his hands were shaking, Lance began biting his lips. His eyes were burning and he could feel tears welling up, momentarily blurring his vision. He hesitated to actually make the call. He needed to hear Keith's voice. He just had to see him. He wanted nothing more than to be with him. But most of all, he needed to explain himself. Instead of hitting the call button, Lance began rushing through the snow, nearly tripping over his feet. The entire way, he couldn't shake the feeling that people were staring at him oddly. He could almost feel their gazes, eyes studying his face and analysing his every movement. Through the snow it was impossible for him to tell if he was simply imagining things or if people were actually staring at him. Was this how Keith felt all the time? Exposed and uncomfortable under this kind of constant scrutiny?

Suddenly self-conscious, Lance pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. All of a sudden, every car he passed, every storefront he walked by was threatening and something he had to be careful of. His heart was racing and he could feel it thumping against his ribs with every step he took. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and temples. Even now, he couldn't bring himself to spend money on the bus fare. For some reason, he wanted to stay in the freezing cold, feel it biting at his skin and stealing every bit of warmth from his body.

By the time Lance got to Keith's house, he was drenched in cold sweat, stray strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead. At some point, he had begun running, which resulted in him gasping for air by the time he was climbing through Keith's window. Even more clumsily than usual, he fell into the living room and spent quite a while on the floor simply catching his breath. His throat was burning, irritated from the exposure to cold air, and Lance could tell he would probably be sick by tomorrow.

"I told you to come through the front door."

Hearing the mildly annoyed voice, Lance twisted around on the floor until he could see the couch, where he found Keith sitting with a tablet in his hand, eyes focused on the screen. Mustering up his last bit of energy, Lance got to his feet and took a deep breath. "You– I don't think they know about… you know… _us_."

Eyes shifting over something on the tablet, Keith eventually shook his head. "Doesn't seem like it."

Lance could feel it without having to really see his face clearly. Keith was mad. He was seething with anger, barely suppressing it. It vibrated in his voice, filled the room with tension. The air was thick with Keith's need to be angry, but stopping himself from doing so. "What're you reading?" Lance asked him after a while, already having a hunch based on how aggressively Keith was scrolling and tapping on things.

Keith let out a frustrated sigh, before turning his tablet around enough for Lance to see what was on it. Gulping, Lance realised it was one of the most heated and angry articles about Keith he had ever written. He had written it at a time where he had felt kicked to the very bottom, hopeless and angry at the world. Much like he had been the past week. And he had taken it out on Keith. "I-I was going to tell you, I swear. I just… I was waiting for the right time and I…" Teeth chattering from the cold still clinging to his body, Lance could barely form words. "You weren't supposed to find out like this!"

Shaking his head, Keith finally directed his furious gaze at Lance. "Why would you write something like this? It's so… _childish_!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Lance immediately snapped, voice cracking.

Keith suddenly stood up from the couch, looking furious but taking a deep, calming breath before speaking. "Then why?"

"I just…" Deflating slightly under Keith's quiet anger, Lance struggled to string words together into a sentence. Suddenly, the past week played back in his mind. Getting the exam results and finding out he had failed practically all of them, hearing about Hunk having three different internship offers, Lance's latest article being rejected yet again by the college newspaper advisor, his talk with his professor, thousands of people now knowing his face, name and past. "You have everything," he quietly forced out. "And looking at you… I feel like I have _nothing_."

Taken aback, Keith's anger seemed to dissipate slightly. "I… don't understand."

Struggling to force down the frustrated tears that wanted to fall, Lance tried desperately to calm himself so he could at least speak. "As long as I can remember, I've never been competition for you. You achieve things so effortlessly and you always seem like you don't even care all that much." He couldn't look at Keith. More than even his old, stupid articles, this was the dark and ugly secret he had been keeping from Keith. "When I wanted to pursue soccer, you beat me without even trying. Most of my middle school crushes turned me down because of you. Nothing I ever did in high school could even compare to you becoming a celebrity almost overnight. And even now that I've decided on a career path, you're thriving while I'm sitting in my mouldy room struggling to even pay for rent. I get that all that's not your fault. I'm old enough to not be that petty anymore. It just feels like things fall into your lap so easily, while I probably can't even pursue a single thing I want in life."

Keith began shaking his head, expression disbelieving. "I don't see the problem. If being a journalist is what you really wanna do, then just go for it!"

"That's the thing, Keith!" Lance barked angrily. "I don't know if that's what I want! I just like writing and the ocean! Being a marine science journalist seems like the natural thing for me to do! The _only_ thing I can do!" Briefly pausing to calm himself, Lance took a deep breath. "Some days I feel like dropping everything and just finding a job as a cashier or something. What if I go through all this and in the end, it's not what I really want?"

For once, Keith was speechless. He had no answer to that.

"Right, you don't get that," Lance hissed, voice dripping with contempt. "You came out of the womb playing the guitar and smashing keyboards. You have _talent_! So much of it that I don't think it would've been possible for you _not_ to become famous! I'm not like that. There are things that I work for endlessly and still can't reach. Ever." Something in Lance snapped then. All of a sudden, the years of deeply disliking and being frustrated with Keith came back to him full force, like a long dormant volcano suddenly bubbling with activity again. "Must be so easy when you have retarded ten-year-olds throwing their parents' cash at you."

"Get out."

Lance finally met Keith's eyes again. He didn't find the cold and way too aloof celebrity from his imagination. He found a guy his own age with hurt in his wet eyes, shaking with barely suppressed rage.

" **Get the fuck out!** " Keith seemed fully ready to throw punches. "Insult me, insult whoever, but if you say another word about my fans, I will _end_ you!"

Lance wanted to apologise. He wanted to tell Keith that he wasn't that person anymore. He wasn't the writer of those articles anymore. He had changed.

But he couldn't. It would feel like a lie.

Lance walked away. Head down, feet dragging over the floor, he headed through the front door and left. He knew Keith wouldn't come after him, no matter how much he wished for it.

He would never have thought that the first time he would actually go through Keith's front door would be like this.

* * *

Head throbbing and vision blurry, Lance struggled to get his key into the keyhole of his front door. He cursed and grumbled angrily under his breath and apparently he did so long enough that eventually his roommate took mercy on him and opened the door for him from inside.

"Lance?" Hunk asked, shooting a confused look at his friend. "Are you okay? You look awful."

Sighing, Lance reached back to gingerly touch the back of his head where most of the pain was originating from. "Some crazy girl at the library threw a book at me when she saw me. Nailed it right in the back of my head."

"What? That's–!"

"I'm fine, Hunk!" Lance immediately snapped, pushing past Hunk to finally get inside and out of the hallway. "I just have a headache. It's gonna go away on its…" He trailed off once he felt something sticky and crusty in his hair, right around the part of his scalp that was the most tender to the touch. When he pulled away his hand to look at it, he found his fingertips wet. "I think I'm bleeding." Before he even had a chance to process anything, Hunk had hastily manoeuvred him onto the couch, pushed a wet cloth against his head that Lance ended up holding himself and began rampaging through the apartment in search of a first aid kit.

In that moment, alone in the living room, listening to Hunk tearing through his room trying to find bandages and disinfectant, it finally dawned on Lance what had actually happened. The girl had disappeared without a word after throwing that book at him, but no matter how much Lance mulled it over, she could have had only one motive: Keith.

It had been two weeks since Lance's identity had gotten leaked. The first week after that had been awful. Angry fans and reporters had posted themselves outside his apartment building to catch him whenever he left. Except he didn't. Lance had simply stayed inside that entire week. Eventually, they had seemed to have given up, disappearing with each day until things at least appeared to be back to normal. Of course, they weren't. Every single article he had ever posted online – regardless of whether it was on his own website or another, whether it was about Keith or something completely unrelated – each one was littered with awful comments. He had had to remove the comment feature altogether from his own blog. Meanwhile, the gossip magazine he had spent months tirelessly writing for had gone another step further and simply taken down anything he had ever written for them. The years he had invested into his craft had simply gone up into smoke within mere days.

As much as he wanted to be frustrated and angry about it, Lance knew that the only person he could blame was himself. He had spent years aimlessly hating someone for no good reason, blaming someone for his own misfortune, unable to celebrate someone else's success because of his own failures. Even better, he had considered himself a matured person, someone that had learned from his mistakes and changed. But he hadn't. Any time he saw Keith, whether consciously or unconsciously, simmering within himself there had been this ugly jealousy that had weaved itself into the very fibres of his being. Lance finally understood why he had never wanted to label his relationship with Keith. Why he had such a hard time even calling him a friend.

Lance had never, in his entire life, felt equal to Keith. How could Lance possibly have any relationship with him, platonic or romantic, if any time he was with him he felt this inadequate and small?

Hunk finally returned with an arm full of supplies, dumping them all on the tiny table in front of the couch. With Lance not quite cooperating, he had to manhandle him into a position where he could work on cleaning and patching up his wound. "Does this happen a lot?"

In a daze, it took Lance a moment to even properly register the question. "You mean getting books thrown at my head? No, that doesn't happen a lot. Getting cussed at by strangers, now, that's been happening a lot lately."

Sighing, Hunk stopped cleaning the wound and made to bandage it up. "The articles weren't even that bad," he mumbled to himself in a frustrated tone.

"I called him a _money-grubbing dancing monkey_ in one, Hunk. And that's one of the more harmless things I've written about him."

Hunk was about to argue again, when there was a soft knock on their front door. Grumbling something under his breath, Hunk got up to open the door and left Lance to his own thoughts yet again. He didn't get to wallow in misery for too long though, since a familiar face soon entered the room.

"Is he still moping?" Pidge asked Hunk, not even bothering trying to get a straight answer out of the person in question. When Hunk simply nodded with a solemn look, Pidge let out a sharp sigh. "I know Keith is a forbidden topic around here, but have either of you looked at the news lately?" Lance merely shrugged, while Hunk shook his head, eliciting an exasperated look from Pidge. "So… I'm by no means a Keith expert or anything, but I don't think he's doing all that hot right now." Seeing the curiosity piqued in the other two, Pidge sat down on a chair close to them.

"What happened?" Hunk asked, obvious concern in his voice.

"Well, what _didn't_ happen?" Pidge countered. "He's been going to night clubs, which apparently is out of character for him. But club hopping lasted maybe three or four days for him cause almost anywhere he went he got into fights. Now he's not allowed into clubs anymore. As in, he's been banned from a couple and it got bad enough his management is pretty much keeping him on house arrest until things blow over."

While Lance stubbornly kept his expression schooled into a neutral mask, eyes averted, Hunk looked shellshocked.

"But… he was doing so well lately," Hunk said quietly, eyes shining with confusion and worry. His gaze briefly snapped to Lance, who was clearly trying to pretend he didn't care. "You think it's because of…"

Pidge and Hunk both watched Lance to see if he would react in any way, falling silent and staring at him until he finally caved and turned towards them.

"What?" he snapped angrily, wincing slightly when his head began throbbing yet again.

Pidge, meanwhile, was totally unbothered by Lance's hostile attitude. "Your boyfriend's having a celebrity meltdown. Don't you think you should… I don't know… reel him in or something before he completely self-destructs?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Lance grumbled quietly, turning away again to burrow into the couch and throw a blanket over himself. He knew Hunk was looking at him with those big sorrowful eyes again. They dug into the back of his head, drawing out the feelings he had tried so hard to suppress.

Lance had tried impossibly hard to ignore everything that was going on, but as a journalist, it had been impossible _not_ to hear about Keith's recent controversial behaviour. Lance had seen these sort of breakdowns time and time again. They always seemed to creep up on people gradually, eventually exploding into one big scandal mess. Keith had been toeing that line for quite some time now, somehow managing to get into scandals, cause uproar, then succeed in his career anyway. At least until now. It seemed as though this time, Keith was heading into a direction he wouldn't be able to return from.

"Lance…"

Hearing Hunk's soft voice made Lance want to creep into a hole and cry until he ran out of tears. Instead of doing so, he simply stayed unmoving and silent. He could hear both Hunk and Pidge sighing, before the two left him to sit together in the kitchen instead. Over the past two weeks, Hunk had tried enough times to cheer him up before realising that it was no use. Lance _wanted_ to feel miserable.

He didn't feel like he deserved to be cheerful right now.

Left alone on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, Lance could feel that familiar hollow darkness eating him up from the inside yet again. It had become a constant companion lately, always there when there was nothing else to distract him, reminding him what a useless trash person he was.

After all, Lance couldn't even help the one person he owed it to the most.

* * *

Sometimes Lance forgot just how nerdy his two best friends were. He was around both of them so much that over time he had simply gotten accustomed to things like them practically speaking an entirely different language. Sometimes they rambled to each other about technology or physics with words he didn't think he would even find in a lexicon. He had learned to tune those conversations out over the years. Additionally, they were both geniuses who lacked in social skills in their own ways. Hunk was simultaneously too naive and too mistrusting, either wholeheartedly trusting new people or totally shutting them out if they gave off the slightest off vibe. Meanwhile Pidge simply hated people in general. 

But Lance was used to all that. In his mind, he wasn't friends with two huge nerds, but with Hunk and Pidge. At least he felt that way until he was forced out of the comfort of his warm blanket cocoon and told they would all go have _fun_. Lance realised just how absolutely, downright _nerdy_ his friends when he found out where they were taking him: a planetarium.

"Did I hit my head and go back in time?" he questioned from the passenger seat of Hunk's car, shooting his roommate a totally unenthused look. "Am I back in fourth grade and going on a goddamn school trip? Is Ms. Fisher about to scold me for being loud and disrespectful?"

Pidge had been quietly sitting in the backseat, but gradually seemed to be getting fed up with Lance complaints. "Whose fault do you think it is we're doing this, huh?"

Sighing, Lance settled down into his seat again and decided it was useless to antagonise his friends. He knew they were just trying to help him. Without them, he probably would have spent who knows how long wasting his days away never getting out of his pyjamas and eating junk food in front of the TV all day. As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, Lance knew he wasn't doing so hot. The past week especially had been tough because everyone around him was gearing up for the new semester. But he wasn't in college anymore. Against several of his professors' advice, he had submitted his withdrawal letter. Every day he told himself he would find new writing gigs and finally earn a decent living, but could never muster up the energy to actually get up and search for work. Currently, he was living off the money he had planned to spend on another semester and burning through it faster than he felt comfortable with. Additionally, Lance could see the physical toll everything was taking on him any time he looked in a mirror. His eyes were bloodshot due to lack of sleep. His skin looked dull and unhealthy because he couldn't find the motivation to do his usual morning and night skin care routines. He couldn't remember the last time he had put on remotely nice clothes. Overall, he looked like a mess. It was no surprise at all that Hunk and Pidge were trying to force him to get out of the apartment for once.

Most of the drive went by in silence. Hunk was focused on driving, while Pidge was busy playing some kind of phone game. Occasionally, they would try striking up conversations, but with Lance totally refusing to be involved in any way, the atmosphere remained painfully frigid. Lance knew his friends didn't deserve the way he was treating them, especially with them actively trying to cheer him up, but he simply couldn't get himself to feel differently. He currently had no patience for anything and rather than get angry and lash out, he would rather not say anything at all and just swallow down his negative impulses. If not, he would only end up hurting even more people than he already had.

"Pidge?" Hunk suddenly asked after a long period of sullen silence. His tone was filled with almost palpable concern. "Something wrong?"

Turning in his seat to glance towards the back, Lance could see what had Hunk so worried: Pidge's face was frozen in a look of absolute shock, eyes glued to the smartphone that Lance had thought was simply running a game. "What's up?" he asked, for a moment forgetting his own misery.

"Uh… um…" Pidge seemed speechless, body tense. "I… I…"

Confused, Lance could feel his heart sinking, coming to the realisation that whatever was going on was incredibly grave. "Pidge, what's wrong?" When Pidge looked up at him with pained, wet eyes, Lance could already feel himself choking up. Without a word, seemingly unable to string together a response, Pidge handed him the phone. Immediately, Lance was greeted with a headline.

According to this article, Keith had gotten into a car accident again. Except this one looked much worse than the one in high school. The car in the photo was completely totalled, dented in on every possible side, the back and front absolutely crushed. No window was intact, every possible airbag had gone off and no part of the car seemed to fit together anymore. It was in shambles. "This has to be fake," Lance immediately said, tone neutral. He simply couldn't believe that any of this was real. No matter how credible the source, this had to be fake. It wouldn't be the first time the news falsely reported something like this.

"No, Lance, I checked," Pidge immediately retorted, voice shaky. "Look at the car. You've seen it."

Lance had only once urged Keith to show him his cars, something Keith had been somewhat awkward about. He seemed like the type of guy who would drive a seedy old truck, happy as long as it still worked. To Lance's surprise, that wasn't the case. Unlike in every other aspect of his life, Keith liked to splurge on cars. He had an entire garage filled with extravagant sports cars and a few classic gems. Keith had slowly warmed up to the experience, eventually brightening up and telling Lance all about his beloved cars. They had spent the rest of that evening in Keith's garage like that, gushing over cars together. Lance vividly remembered Keith introducing him to his favourite: a cherry red 1990 Corvette ZR-1. It by far wasn't the most expensive car in his collection. In fact, it was probably dirt cheap compared to every other car in that garage. But it had seemed to hold an incredible sentimental value to Keith because it was a car he had dreamed of since he was a child. Apparently, it was the first of his many cars that he had bought from his own money, even before he had made it big. This once completely out of budget car was now worth chump change in the face of his annual income. And yet the love and adoration in Keith's eyes for this ageing car had been unmistakable.

That exact car was now the subject of a horrifying slideshow of accident photos, each detailing a different gruesome angle of it's total destruction. Lance didn't want to believe it, but he could see the little details and modifications that clearly made it Keith's car: the deep black rims, the custom red seats, the little neon-blue lion charm hanging off the rearview mirror.

He couldn't deny it.

"Lance, what are you doing?" Hunk asked quietly, unable to take his eyes off the road, but noticing Lance's hectic movement out of the corners of his eyes.

"I need to… need to call him." Lance was frantically trying to operate his phone, struggling to even get into his contacts. He could hear Pidge beginning a sentence, but going silent upon some kind of motion from Hunk. Meanwhile, Lance managed to dial Keith's number, heart racing as he waited for someone to pick up. Things suddenly sank in. Listening to the monotonous beeping of the line, the photos of the accident came back to him. The words _'condition unknown'_ from the article flashed before his eyes and suddenly, despite it being the middle of the day, the sky clear and the sun bright, the world seemed to go dark around him.

_"Lance?"_

Gasping, Lance abruptly sat up straight in his seat. "Keith?!"

_"Oh, no… It's… Shiro."_

Heart sinking into his gut, Lance could feel all strength draining out of his body. "I-… Um… Hey, Shiro." Lance had met Shiro a few times before, but only back when him and Keith used to get into fights in school frequently enough that Shiro would have to come sort things out. Keith's various foster parents were usually too busy or didn't care enough to come and somehow Shiro always got roped into doing it instead. Although it really hadn't seemed like he minded. More than once he would even go as far as trying to mend things between the two boys, being strict, yet kind. Growing up with a bossy and annoying older sister, Lance had found himself somewhat jealous of Keith for having a kind older brother figure like Shiro. "Is he… Where– Can I see him?" Lance eventually asked, finding it difficult to stop his voice from shaking.

Shiro breathed in sharply and didn't respond immediately. There was the sound of commotion around him, hushed voices and the general noise of a busy place. _"I…"_ He hesitated, seemingly debating with himself. _"I don't think that's a good idea, Lance. Not right now."_

Struggling to get his voice to work for a moment, Lance could feel panic washing over him. "C-Can you at least tell me if he's okay? What's going on?"

_"Lance…"_ Shiro sounded regretful, but also stern. _"I can't tell you anything. I'm sorry."_

"What…?" It suddenly dawned on Lance. Shiro wasn't speaking to him like he was Keith's old classmate and acquaintance. He was talking to him like he was something else entirely. "Do you think I'm looking for a scoop?"

_"No, Lance…!"_ Trailing off, Shiro seemed at a loss for words. _"I just… Sorry."_

Lance never got the chance to say anything more. Shiro hung up before he could.

That response all but confirmed Lance's suspicions. Shiro was an eloquent, well-spoken guy. He had a diplomatic response for just about anything, no matter the situation. For him to crumble like that, Lance must have hit the nail on the head. Shiro didn't want to lie to him and so he had simply hung up instead of coming up with an excuse.

"I guess that's it then," Lance murmured glumly, sinking down into his seat and limply letting his head knock against the car window.

Perhaps it had all been doomed from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to update last week, but then the holidays happened, whoops. My hand is all better again, but I'm still fighting some massive writer's block. Luckily, the next chapter (which is gonna be the final one) is already mostly drafted, so it shouldn't take longer than a month to be ready. I'm also gonna upload an epilogue afterwards, so it's not gonna be the end just yet.


	5. Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a quick warning for anyone who hasn't read the tags of this story. This chapter goes kinda dark, so please go in prepared for that.

"Lance?"

It took a while for Lance to even register Hunk's voice, much less react in any way. "Hm?"

"Uh… what're you thinking about?" When Hunk received nothing but a shrug in response, he sighed to himself, sounding dejected. "You've been staring at the ceiling like that for half an hour now. You've gotta be thinking about _something_."

"I'm not though." Lance only realised in that exact moment that he had, in fact, been staring at the ceiling blankly for over half an hour. He felt stuck. As though even if he tried to get up from this couch, he wouldn't be able to. The TV was on, blaring some kind of cheerful, upbeat show about families and their pets, but none of the sound reached him. Only when Hunk suddenly began shaking him did he lift his head to look at him.

"Your phone's going off."

Now that he was looking at Hunk, he could see the pain shining in his eyes, creeping through his entire body and making his large frame look down-cast and sad. Knowing his own hurt was affecting his friend this much only made Lance feel even worse. Glancing at his phone, he saw that an unknown number was calling. Despite the suspicion sizzling in the back of his mind, Lance took the call.

_"Lance?"_

The voice was vaguely familiar, but Lance couldn't immediately place it. "Who is this?"

_"Oh, uh… it's me, Shiro."_

Lance immediately sat up straight, more awake than he had been in a while. Almost two weeks had passed since Keith's accident and still, things about his condition were very unclear. Keith's fans were rioting at this point, fervently demanding answers and updates. But aside from very neutral social media posts and statements filled with PR talk from his management, there simply were no clear answers. At this point, people were already knee-deep in conspiracy theories. Some people were even speculating that Keith had died in that accident and that his label was currently trying to cover it all up so they could employ a doppelgänger.

_"Lance, I need to talk to you."_

Still at a loss for words, Lance gulped, cringing a little at how dry his throat felt. "S-Sure, um…"

_"I'm gonna come and pick you up. I'll be in front of your building in a couple minutes, if that's fine."_

"That works," Lance immediately said, trying his hardest not to come off too eager. "I'll be there."

_"All right. See you then."_ Tone clipped, Shiro ended the call there.

Letting out a long breath, Lance slowly sank back into the couch for a moment. "That was Shiro," he told Hunk, who was still staring at him with eyes full of curiosity. "Looks like I'm gonna get to talk to him." Looking down at himself, Lance remembered that he was wearing the same sweatpants he had been practically living in for the the past five days or so. He didn't quite remember when he had last washed the T-shirt he was wearing. "I'm… gonna go change real quick."

After getting into a fresh set of clothes and looking less like a complete and utter mess, Lance headed outside. After Keith's accident, any and all media attention that had previously been on Lance had simply evaporated into thin air. A few weeks had gone by and people seemed to have completely forgotten about him. It was both relieving and disorienting; to be hated so intensely, only to be promptly forgotten and discarded as old news. He had seen it happen from the outside countless times, but to actually be in the middle of it was a total shock to his system.

Still without a proper winter coat, Lance soon stood in the cold, waiting patiently in front of his apartment building. He wasn't entirely sure where Shiro would be coming from, so he stayed in a spot on the sidewalk where anyone driving by would be able to see him easily. He could feel his mind going blank again as he waited, snow slowly beginning to drift down from above. Standing under a skeletal tree that looked half-dead without its leaves, Lance's eyes stayed on the branches that were bent like crooked fingers pointing in different directions. Even when he tried thinking of something interesting, anything to distract him and pass the time, he couldn't. His mind felt numb, like his brain was under anaesthesia. He could almost feel himself checking out mentally.

A car suddenly stopped in front of him and at first Lance couldn't even take his eyes off those crooked branches. But eventually, his eyes wandered down until they came upon a black jeep. By the time he remembered why he was shivering on the sidewalk, someone was already coming out of the car and towards him.

"Lance?"

His mind still felt numb.

"Oh no, did you wait long? It's so cold!" Shiro quickly ushered him into his car, eyebrows pulling into a concerned frown when he noticed how much Lance was shaking. "Why are you dressed like this? It's the middle of winter! It's snowing!"

Only when he found himself in the passenger seat of Shiro's car did Lance properly come back to reality. "I… uh… I don't have a winter coat."

"Jeez," Shiro sighed, still looking at Lance with worry-filled eyes. "Sorry, I wouldn't have made you wait like that if I'd known."

"'S fine," Lance mumbled, sinking into his seat a little. Usually, he would have been ecstatic to be sitting in Shiro's car like this. After all, he was not only Keith's manager, but a celebrity in his own right. He had penned quite a few hugely successful songs for various artists, earning a pretty penny from royalties over the years. Even without Keith, he was doing very well for himself. Strangely enough, he had never written a song for Keith after his debut.

Despite how much Lance liked Shiro's music, considering under what circumstances they were meeting, he couldn't quite find it in himself to feel joyful. Small talk seemed inappropriate in the current situation and so there was a definite silence that reigned over the inside of Shiro's car for the entire ride. Lance watched the scenery outside gradually shifting from apartment buildings to high-rise buildings to smaller shops and bistros, before the buildings grew further and further apart, until there was nothing but forest to all sides. After driving down a narrow street deeper into the forest, Shiro then stopped the car in a parking lot. Once he killed the engine, he didn't immediately step out of the car. He looked like he wanted to say something, eyes constantly shifting to Lance, mouth opening and closing a few times, before he seemed to give up and finally left the car.

Hearing the door smack shut prompted Lance to get out as well. When he stepped onto the pristine layer of snow outside and felt the leaves underneath crunching under his feet, he felt strangely grounded. Aside from the occasional rustle or loud crack from a few freezing trees, the forest was quiet. For the first time in a while, Lance felt somewhat present. Something suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, making him jump as he snapped his head around. He found Shiro looking at him with a sheepish smile as he adjusted the coat he was pulling over Lance.

"Oh… thanks," Lance simply said, before pushing his arms into the sleeves of the coat. Immediately, he could feel the cold being blocked out, the coat wrapping him in a layer of warmth.

"It's… Keith's." Shiro sounded neutral but the wrinkles between his eyebrows betrayed his aloof front. "He left it in my car before the…" He trailed off, gulping as pain entered his eyes. The look in his eyes seemed eerily similar to the way Hunk was looking at Lance lately.

When Shiro motioned for him to follow, Lance did so silently. Going deeper into the forest, Lance found himself staring at Shiro's broad back. It grounded him even more and reminded him why he was here to begin with. It suddenly dawned on him that he had no idea what Shiro's intentions were. Would he tell him about Keith? Or would he ask him to never speak to him again? Shiro did give off that intimidating protective dad vibe sometimes. It made thoughts come back into Lance's mind. Thoughts he had tried so desperately shut out. Thoughts he had numbed himself to.

What if Keith's accident had been his fault? If Keith had never met him, would he be fine right now? Had Lance ruined his life forever?

Shiro suddenly stopped near a bench on a cliff that overlooked the city below. They were out of the forest now, but still separate from the rest of the world in a way. The city was bustling and colourful in the distance, the forest behind them peaceful.

"I'm sure there's a lot you want to ask right now," Shiro suddenly spoke up, finally turning around to face Lance and see the turbulent emotions shining in his eyes. "And I know it's probably unfair to you, but I can't answer any of your questions. I just want you to listen. Anything else you'll have to figure out on your own."

Puzzled, Lance let the words go through his mind for a moment, before nodding hesitantly. It wasn't like he had much of a choice anyway.

"I come here sometimes with Keith." Remembering past memories seemed to lift Shiro's mood slightly, but despite the small smile on his face, his expression remained solemn. "To escape, you know. He needs that sometimes. Moments where he knows no one is sneaking around waiting to catch him when he's down or messing up somehow." His face suddenly pulled into a frown that poorly masked how much he was hurting. "He's not doing great right now," he finally admitted, guilt ringing in his voice. "Physically… he'll be okay. Eventually. But everything else…" When he shook his head, Shiro truly seemed at the end of his rope. "He won't listen to me. I don't think there's anything I can say to him that would help. I just…" He let out a sharp, frustrated sigh, jaw tense. "I feel like I'm losing him and there's no one else to catch him when he falls."

Lance was starting to understand Shiro's intentions, but couldn't truly process any of it before this fog of uncertainty left his mind. "I know you said you can't answer my questions, but… can you at least tell me one thing?"

Shiro seemed to debate with himself for a moment, staring at the ground with an intensely contemplative gaze, but after a while he met Lance's eyes again and nodded. "If I can answer it, I will."

Gulping, Lance suddenly became painfully aware of how dry his throat was. "Is all this my fault?"

Immediately, Shiro's face softened and he began slowly shaking his head. "This didn't happen overnight, Lance. He's been on the edge for so long, it was only a matter of time until he teetered off completely."

Lance knew Shiro meant to comfort him, but all he was doing was confirming his fears: he had pushed Keith over that edge. He had shattered whatever equilibrium that had existed for Keith and dropped him into utter despair. He had seen it in his face when he had spat all those horrible things at him. He had been able to hear it in his voice, in the way it trembled slightly, how it had cracked a little when Keith told to him to leave. What had hurt Keith most hadn't been the articles or even Lance's comment about his fans, but the fact that throughout everything they had been through, even after listening to his new music and connecting with him on such a deep level, Lance had never seen Keith as equal to himself. He had never considered Keith a friend. No matter how well he got to know Keith, he had always considered him a celebrity, fundamentally different from himself. So different, in fact, that any relationship between them was only temporary, doomed to fall apart sooner rather than later. In a moment of anger, he had so easily disregarded everything they had built together by making it clear how he saw Keith and how he saw himself in comparison. He had practically confirmed Keith's worst fear by treating him like he wasn't a person, but an amalgamation of everything Lance hated in celebrities.

"I know it might be too much to ask…" Shiro suddenly continued, waking Lance from his train of thought, "but could you just check on him a bit? There's only so much I can do. He doesn't want to worry me, so he always tells me he's fine. Even when he's clearly not." For a moment, he went silent, suddenly deep in thought. "I think… he doesn't want to disappoint me. He doesn't want me to see him when he's down. It might actually hurt him more if I forced him to admit his weakness to me."

When Shiro met Lance's eyes next, Lance could tell how sincerely worried for Keith he was. This wasn't him overreacting or being an overbearing mother hen. Something was very wrong and someone had to step in. Soon. "I'll try," he said quietly. "I promise."

A smile finally appeared on Shiro's face again, but his expression still looked pained. "Thanks, Lance."

Giving a small nod in response, Lance watched Shiro looking out at the city with his back to him, his expression hidden. After a while, he wordlessly began the treck back to the car, prompting Lance to follow. The ride back into the bustling city went by in relative silence yet again, neither having a need for small talk or even being in a mood to speak. Lance relished the feel of Keith's jacket around him. It smelled like him and reminded him of all those times they would sit in Keith's living room and play old video games. Although Lance would always beat him in shooters and anything to do with hitting targets, Keith had a weird knack for racing games, no matter how old or primitive. Picking a game had always boiled down to them having to flip a coin because once a game had been chosen, the winner had been clear right away. The only thing in Keith's collection that they could play together without devolving into petty fights was an obscure exploration game about two aliens crash-landing on Earth. In a rare week in which Keith had quite a few free days, they had probably played through that game three or four times, since each play-through took barely five hours.

Lance suddenly wanted nothing more than to be huddled with Keith on his couch playing video games on a console so old it made sounds like a dying aircraft.

"We're there."

Shiro's voice brought Lance back to reality. Looking out of the window, he saw the front of his apartment building. Lance could already imagine Hunk sitting in the kitchen sipping on a cup of tea in an attempt to calm himself but failing miserably, ready to jump up the second his roommate came in so he could bombard him with questions. "Thanks, Shiro." As he got out of the car, Lance got a brief glimpse at Shiro's face, the half-smile that quickly melted away again, the tired look in his eyes. "See you around." Lance hadn't encountered Shiro that much throughout his life, but he could still tell how heavy the burden he was carrying was. It almost physically pulled him down, seemingly pushing down on his shoulders at all times. Lance didn't even want to imagine having his job in this situation.

Sighing, Lance was about to make his way inside, when he suddenly let out a surprised gasp. He had forgotten to return Keith's jacket! Turning on the spot, he tried to make out through the heavy snow if Shiro's car was still somewhere nearby, but he was long gone. When Lance then reluctantly headed inside, he suddenly had the thought that even as out of it as Shiro was, he didn't seem like the type to make a mistake like this. Perhaps…

"Now I really don't have a choice, huh?" Lance mumbled to himself, savouring just how warm this jacket was. "I need to return this after all."

* * *

Actually standing in front of Keith's house, Lance suddenly found himself feeling uncertain like he never had before. He had gone in and out of Keith's house countless times before. So often, in fact, that he had been beginning to treat it almost like a second home. He knew where all the kitchen utensils were, where Keith's pantry was and what it was stocked with, where he kept spare blankets and pillows. Granted, it was his housekeeper who regularly put those things there, but it didn't change the fact that Lance had almost felt at home in this house. By the fifth or sixth time that he had fallen asleep on the couch by accident, Lance had stopped waking up in a confusion about where he was each time; instead he would simply wake up and feel… comfortable.

Now, any sense of comfort and familiarity was gone. Keith's house suddenly looked imposing and way too large, looming in a disconcerting way. Lance had been standing outside the fence for so long, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, tinting the air in oranges and reds. Even the sky looked mad at him. Rightfully so. Luckily, he was wearing Keith's jacket, otherwise he probably would have frozen to death already.

Taking a deep breath, Lance swallowed down his trepidation and took his usual leap over the fence. Despite how much Keith complained about him never using the front door, for some reason Lance could always enter without any problem, even without Pidge's hacking. If Keith had instructed his security to let him specifically through, was that still the case even now? The uncertainty caused Lance to not move away from the fence. He kept his back pinned against it, legs shaking slightly at the prospect of setting off an entire armada of alarms. There was no doubt in his mind that the system would call either the security company or the police even. But he knew there was no other way; this wasn't about annoying Keith anymore. According to Shiro, Keith hadn't let anyone enter his house for the past week. Neither the housekeeper or Shiro himself had been allowed inside, meaning Keith had shut himself in for an entire week by this point.

Lance gulped when he imagined all the things that could happen, but eventually found the courage to take the first step forward. Slowly but steadily, he made his way through the backyard, breath bated as he waited for some kind of siren to go off or for someone to tackle him. But no such thing happened and Lance continued on his way, growing slightly more confident with each step. Eventually, he made it to the back of Keith's house where he usually entered from. Climbing up to the balcony was a total cakewalk, since he knew the exact places to grab and how to pull himself up. Keith usually kept the sliding door to his balcony locked, so Lance would always enter through the window left of the balcony. The usual giddiness and excitement that came with breaking into Keith's house, the anticipation for his frustrated huffing and puffing, was replaced with a sense of sudden dread. The inside of Keith's house was totally dark. Lance could barely see inside, since every window and glass door had been haphazardly blocked out with dark curtains and blankets. It all screamed that Lance was not welcome, that he should be turning around and leaving, never to come back. But he couldn't. He couldn't leave, especially after seeing this.

Even with Shiro telling him how worried he was, Lance hadn't quite been able to picture what was going on. In the back of his mind, he had quietly suspected and hoped that perhaps Shiro had been exaggerating. Maybe he had told Lance all those things to force him to make up with Keith in a weird fucked up older brother type of way. But Shiro wasn't like that, that much Lance knew about him. That only left the most obvious and disheartening answer.

Feeling his own heartbeat speeding up, Lance yanked at the window. Against any and all logic, it was not locked, like he had suspected. For whatever reason, Keith had completely separated himself from the rest of the world, with his door locked and his windows dark, and yet this window that he knew Lance always came through was open. Lance didn't want to hope for anything, but he couldn't help but feel a small spark of joy at that. Holding on to that brief feeling of relief, Lance climbed inside and quietly shut the window again. Instantly, he found himself in darkness. The little sunlight that made it inside was disappearing with the sunset, providing barely enough light to see the outlines of the furniture around him. Fortunately, Lance knew his way around this place well enough to be able to make out where he needed to go. Around this time and when he was off work, Keith usually hung out in his living room playing guitar, working on songs or doing a light workout. But he wasn't there. Instead, Lance found the entire living room area absolutely littered in all kinds of junk. Beer bottles, empty food boxes, half-full glasses and other trash. Not to mention the smell of alcohol lingered in the air like a miasma.

A sigh left Lance as he made his way to the only other place he could imagine Keith possibly being in: his bedroom. With as many rooms as he had in this mansion, Keith really only used the living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. He truly hadn't been lying when he had said he didn't even need all this space. In this darkness, it took Lance a while longer to find his way around, but eventually he had his hand on the doorknob of Keith's bedroom door. His hands felt clammy and cold, the cool metal of the doorknob only amplifying the feeling. He couldn't hear anything from inside, making him doubt whether Keith was in there. Fingers nervously running over the smooth surface of the knob as his chest felt tighter and tighter, Lance opened the door before he could even grow uncertain or even tempted to leave again. Inside, he found more darkness. But since a fair amount sunshine made it in through some gaps in the curtains, the room was lit well enough for him to see something. Namely the person sitting on the bed.

A few large square bandaids covered up parts of Keith's face, bandages were wrapped around one of his arms and bruises were visible all over his body, even in this darkness. Granted, most of those bruises were already fading away, but the discolourations especially around his jaw and on his arms were unmistakable. Despite his current state, Lance could feel an almost deafening sense of relief wash over him. He suddenly realised with a start how much he had missed even just talking to Keith, not to mention actually seeing him. He had never wanted to admit it, but whenever he got to hang out with Keith, he had felt unbelievably special. After all, Keith probably had rich celebrities and supermodels throwing themselves at him all day, and yet he had chosen to be with Lance instead.

"Why are you here?"

Lance felt a cold shiver go down his spine. Keith didn't sound like himself. He had always had a biting attitude, the kind Lance had reluctantly gotten used to, but this was different. Everything about Keith, his tone, his posture, the cold look in his eyes, screamed for every person on Earth to simply be sucked into another dimension, just so no one would bother him. Lance bit at his lips nervously for a moment, before finding the courage to answer. "I wanted to see you."

Keith suddenly scoffed, a humourless laugh passing his lips. "Fine, go ahead. Take a photo too, yeah? If you sell that you could probably make enough to last you for a whole damn year."

Lance's first instinct was to get angry, to yell at Keith and be offended that he would even suggest something like that. But he couldn't do any of that. Because Keith was completely in his right to say those things. "I'm glad you're okay." His voice cracked when he remembered those photos of the car crash, how the street had been completely littered with broken off parts and shattered glass. He knew there were more gruesome photos out there, hidden away in darker corners of the internet, but he hadn't dared to seek them out. And even with as many times as he had practiced what he was going to say in his head, he still felt totally unprepared. "I'm… sorry for all the things I said. For how I treated you." Lance could see Keith's face, the unreadable expression on his face. But because of the semi-darkness, he felt like he was looking at someone completely unknown to him. "It was really unfair and–"

"Just get to the point and tell me _why_ ," Keith suddenly cut him off. "Cause I still don't get it."

This, Lance had not expected at all. Keith's tone was sharp and cold, devoid of any discernible emotion. He _sounded_ angry, but most of all, his voice had a deafeningly apathetic ring to it. Usually one to openly express his emotions, Lance didn't recognise this Keith. "I guess I just never felt good enough for you," Lance began quietly, still slightly unsure of his own true feelings. "I didn't want to feel silly for being naive about what we could be, just in case you ever decided to stop being friends with me. I… I _wanted_ to be your friend. I just didn't think I…" Lance trailed off when his eyes fell on what was sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, he could see more and more. Namely the pill bottle sitting there on the nightstand. It seemed plain enough, but something about it and the way Keith was acting made Lance feel off. "What are those?" he blurted out, voice firm with no sign of his earlier uncertainty.

Keith seemed unfazed. At first, it didn't look like he would reply. But after a painfully thick silence, he eventually did speak up. "It's just my pain medication."

Lance had a hard time simply accepting that answer. Just looking at that pill bottle made him feel deeply disconcerted. "Are you healing up okay?"

Expression still nonchalant but also closed off, Keith was beginning to look doubtful of Lance's motives. "Just fine," he finally replied, firmly maintaining eye contact with the other. "Should be all healed in a week or two."

"Oh, great," Lance said with a stiff smile, making his way towards Keith's bed. "Then you probably don't need those pills anymore. You wouldn't mind if I just took these and threw them away, right?" Just as he was within the reach of the pills, Keith suddenly perked up.

"Don't touch those," he hissed, glaring daggers at Lance.

In a single, world-crushing moment, all of Lance's fears had been confirmed. He could see it in Keith's wild eyes and his tensed up body that was ready to jump at him if he had to. Lance tried to ignore how fast his heart was racing, how it was beating so hard it almost hurt. His throat was beginning to feel tight. He could feel his body gradually going into panic mode. Lance didn't want to go through this kind of thing. Not again. "I'm taking these." The second he reached for the pill bottle, Lance was knocked off his feet. For a moment, he didn't even know where he was, but then he could feel his back hitting a wall and Keith was suddenly in front of him.

"I told you not to touch those."

Lance felt incredibly pathetic for still being turned on by Keith's threatening, low voice and the dangerous gleam in his eyes. Rather than feel scared of Keith, Lance was terrified _for_ him. "Keith, I'll just–" The second he made to reach for the pills another time, Lance could feel pain explode across his entire head. It took him an extra second to realise that he had just been punched. The punch hadn't been quite strong enough to knock him to the floor, but it would probably still leave a nasty bruise. Even so, Lance quickly regained his composure and didn't even feel the pain, too focused on somehow making Keith just _understand._ "Keith… please…" Lance didn't want to cry. But he couldn't control the way his body responded like he wanted to. He wasn't sure if it was emotions getting to him or the pain catching up after all, but he was finding it harder and harder to hold those tears in. "You don't get it! The last couple weeks have been hell! I just wanted to know if you were okay, but no one…!" Taking a deep breath and blinking back tears, Lance felt a new determination to somehow get through to Keith. "I just want you to be okay. I don't want you to… to…" Lance had never talked about this to anyone. Even in his family this was a taboo topic, something that was better left forgotten about, never to be brought up again. But he had no other way of making Keith understand. "I don't want you to end up like my uncle." His voice was already cracking and faltering, but Lance forced himself to go on. "He… overdosed on… on Vicodin and…" Keith's face suddenly became blurry in front of him and Lance knew it was over. He couldn't talk anymore, lest he would be reduced to a mere sobbing mess.

His uncle dying was something he rarely even thought about. Since Lance's family never ever brought it up and there weren't many things left to remember his uncle by, it was easy to simply forget and move on. But now that he was talking about it, it made the whole thing oddly real. All the hurt and sadness he had felt as a child suddenly came back. For a long time, he hadn't even know how his uncle had died. Once he got older, he had pressed his older sister for answers until he had found out the truth. Suddenly, his uncle's gradual but extreme change in behaviour before he had died had made sense. Lance knew what an addict looked like. And yet he wondered if there had been signs he had simply missed with Keith. It made him doubt all of his time with Keith, made him question if he had _made_ Keith go down this path.

"I'm so sorry," Lance said, unable to muster up more than a quiet whisper. "This is all my fault. You wouldn't be like this if I hadn't been such a fucking asshole. You didn't deserve getting into an accident like that. It should've been me that–"

"Shut up!"

Surprised at the sudden raw emotion in Keith's voice, Lance raised his head again. Even through his still blurry vision he could tell how intensely Keith was glaring at him.

"The accident was my own damn fault," Keith barked angrily. "I was too tired to drive. Shiro offered to drive me but I just wanted to be alone. I…" Taking a step away from Lance, some of the tension seeped out of Keith's body. "I keep replaying the accident in my head. And I think… maybe I could've dodged that car after all. But in that moment, I just didn't… care. I guess."

Lance roughly wiped over his eyes to clear his vision and was able to actually look at Keith. He looked exhausted. Defeated. "I shouldn't have left you alone," Lance said, voice barely above a whisper. "I should have been with you. I'm so–" He was about to apologise again, but Keith immediately glaring at him shut him up before he could. It put a brief half smile on his face.

The anger seemed to have completely drained out of Keith, leaving him too tired to push Lance away. He was still slightly jumpy, eyes occasionally wandering to his nightstand, but ultimately he kept his eyes on Lance. "So how have you been? Hope you've been living it up without me around to interfere in all your plans last minute when it's convenient for me."

Lance tried to smile, but couldn't get himself to do even that much. Keith asking him that way, completely convinced he was thriving and living the college life, made it only that much harder to say the words. "Um… well… I dropped out of college." Pausing to bite his lip and nervously glance away, he could feel his entire head go hot with shame. "I haven't told my parents yet. They'll probably disown me when they find out." He tried to laugh to lighten the solemn mood, but only succeeded in making himself sound even more miserable.

For once, something happened that Lance had never seen before: Keith was speechless. He was staring at Lance, totally shocked, nothing but confusion swimming in his eyes. "Wh-What about… your writing? How…" He trailed off when he got nothing but a weak head shake as response.

Taking an unsteady breath, Lance suddenly had to face a truth he had been trying desperately to ignore the past few weeks. "Well… no news outlet wants to hire me because I was involved in a pretty big scandal. I don't know how to pay rent once I run out of my savings. I have… no idea what to do. So, you know, everything's great."

Shoulders sagging, Keith seemed to be having trouble looking Lance in the eyes. "I should have been more careful about not involving you in that stuff," he said quietly, anguish in his voice. "You know, my fans, the press, people who will jump on any opportunity to put my name in a headline. I'm usually so careful, but with you I couldn't…"

Puzzled, Lance noted how the air around Keith changed. When their eyes met, he was suddenly reminded of everything that attracted him so much to Keith. He was good-looking, driven and exuded confidence, but what made him so special was that he had a certain charm that was mesmerising even when he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. Whether he wanted to or not, he demanded attention. The fact that making eye contact with him felt like falling into the depths of a deep dark whirlpool didn't help either.

"I just wanted to see you," Keith continued, voice low. "And it made me take risks I shouldn't have taken." His eyebrows pulled together into a frown and his eyes dropped to the floor, something sombre clearly going through his mind. "Would you have been better off never meeting me?"

Lance couldn't help but let out a curt, dry laugh at that, head lolling back against the wall behind him. "I've been asking myself the same thing for the past couple weeks. If I hadn't broken into your house back then, maybe you wouldn't have gotten into that accident." He could see Keith shaking his head vigorously, already about to retort vehemently but he cut him off. "I know," he reassured him. "I know, but it's still difficult not to think about it that way."

A long silence stretched between. Neither quite knew what to say, but both came to the crushing realisation that they had practically ruined each other's lives in one way or another. Their own carelessness had put them in their respective situations and affected the other person negatively as well.

Figuring Keith was coming to that same conclusion, Lance spoke up. "Maybe we should stop seeing each–"

"I can't," Keith suddenly cut in, a certain pain to his gaze. "I can't do this again. If you leave again, I…"

Although Lance was suggesting it, even he didn't feel like he could cut ties with Keith just like that. He could see it in Keith's eyes that they were both beginning to come to terms with a simple truth they had been denying probably the entirety of their odd relationship: they were really fucking attracted to each other and every moment they weren't with each other was hell. The reason they had both been so miserable the past few weeks was that they didn't have the usual certainty that one way or another, they would see each other again eventually. Whether it was in a week or in a month, they had always known there would be a next time. But after their fight, they hadn't had that certainty. And it had absolutely torn them both up, mentally and perhaps even physically. On the other hand, this new knowledge came with another realisation for Lance that was even more torturous.

Hesitantly, Lance took a hold of Keith's hand. Even though the other seemed stunned and confused, he laced their fingers together and squeezed his hand, trying somewhat to motivate himself a bit as well. "This isn't gonna work, Keith," he murmured quietly, unable to find the strength to speak any louder. "You can't help me and I can't help you. There's nothing we can do except… get away from each other before it gets worse."

"But…" Keith struggled to regain his composure for a moment, before a strange mix of anger and confusion fuelled him. "It's not like it can get any worse. What's the point?"

"You don't get it," Lance said firmly. "This is just the start. There's definitely room for things to get worse, especially if we keep going like this. You're being naive if you think it can't get any worse."

Keith tore his hand out of Lance's, eyes furious. "That's bullshit."

Lance could feel frustrated tears welling up now and judging by how red Keith's eyes were getting, he was in much the same boat. "Maybe if one of us was in a better place in life this could work. But we're both huge messes right now. And two messes together will just… you know…" He could still see denial written all over Keith's face, oozing from his entire body. Slowly, with careful movements, Lance took off the jacket still wrapped around him and handed it to Keith, who only seemed to recognise it in that exact moment. Watching Keith as he stood there staring down at his jacket listlessly, Lance then forced himself to head towards the door, even though his feet wanted him to stay exactly where he was. Once he was in the doorframe, he looked at Keith again and noticed that he wasn't making any moves to come after him and stop him. "Throw the pills away." Keith looking at him with those sad eyes made him want to engulf him in a big warm hug. But he couldn't. "Also open your windows and let some air in. It smells like death in here." He felt slightly better when a curt chuckle left Keith, who seemed to slowly come to terms with the situation. "Let some sunlight in, ya know. It's really not as bright and annoying as you think it is." As he was about to say his good-bye, Keith suddenly took a step towards him.

"You should… tell your family," he said carefully, unusually hesitant and uncertain. "About what's going on, you know. It's not gonna be as bad as you think."

At first surprised, Lance couldn't hold back a relieved smile. "Thanks, Keith." When he only got a nod in return, he knew there was nothing left to say. So he left. Now that his eyes were fully adjusted to the darkness, it was much easier to find his way around. On his way out, he could hear a bit of a commotion behind him.

It sounded like Keith tearing the curtains off his windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a good excuse this time. I fully blame KHIII.
> 
> Next chapter is technically the epilogue – or at least that's what I always considered it to be –, but I suppose it's the real final chapter, depending on how you look at it. As usual, I can't make any promises as to when I'll upload again. Especially with KHIII just… existing.
> 
> Looking forward to the comments this time! I never realise how much I torture my characters until people point it out, whoops. It's always so surprising to me when people actually truly _feel_ things because of something I wrote. So please let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Edit: Because some people are misunderstanding I want to clarify: this is only the final chapter in name! I personally consider the next chapter an epilogue, but it might as well be the real final chapter. I only call it an epilogue because it is a bit short compared to my other chapters. But considering that some of my chapters go up to 10k words, it's still a full chapter, even if it's short in comparison. So no need to panic that this is the end, I'm serious. I'm getting enough kinda panicked comments it's starting to stress me out lol.


	6. Coda

The break room was silent when Lance arrived there and quietly sat down for lunch. The only sound that filled the room was the distant bustling of guests and the humming of nearby machinery. Normally, he ate with the other two interns, but both of them were still doing food prep. He felt slightly lonely sitting in a room by himself knowing there were countless people outside, but his hunger won over and made him excited to finally bite into his lunch. Just as he began browsing on his phone, about to take his first bite out of the sandwich Hunk had made him in the morning, the door swung open and in came his supervisor.

"Hey, Lance," she greeted him, looking to be in a rush. "Mirana cut her finger when she was doing food prep and we might need to take her to the hospital. Can you take over the next tour for her?"

"Oh wow," Lance said at first, wondering how badly Mirana must have cut herself to warrant a hospital visit. "Sure, I can do it. I don't mind."

"Thanks."

That was the last Lance saw of his supervisor, who quickly left after shooting him a grateful smile. The moment the room was silent again, Lance let out a sigh. His eyes went back to his phone, where he had been browsing through celebrity news. None of them interested him all that much, but he couldn't deny that he was looking for someone in particular in those headlines. Before he could succumb to the temptation of maybe finding something new on social media, he turned on the little tube TV that sat in a corner of the break room. When he finally began eating, he got a whiff of the distinct fishy smell coming off his own hands. Working as an intern in an aquarium simply came with a near ever-present fish smell, so by now he had gotten used to it. At first it had made him gag a little, but now he couldn't care less.

When Lance began browsing through channels on the TV, he eventually came across some sort of talk show. Initially, Lance meant to dismiss the show like everything else he had been browsing through, but instantly stopped short when he caught sight of a familiar face. Unknowingly, he set down the remote on the table, his lunch completely forgotten. He was simply too focused on catching every single moment a certain pop-star came into view.

Keith looked healthy. Happy. The media hadn't picked up on any of his issues following the accident. Keith had Shiro to thank for that, since he had worked tirelessly day and night to deflect any attempts of somehow getting a scoop out of the situation. And now Keith seemed to be genuinely enjoying his interview with the host of the show, which was surprising in itself. The speakers on this TV were somewhat broken, so Lance didn't get every single word Keith was saying. Still, it was enough to make him remember what it was like to be around Keith, listening to him sleepily talk about his day or spit teasing remarks. And as much as Keith hated interviews and big, expensive productions in general, he was a natural in front of cameras. He looked and sounded totally at ease and in control; no interview question seemed to ever faze him. No matter how much he whined and complained about this aspect of his job, he was simply born for it. He exuded confidence and charisma with everything that he did.

Only when the show went on break for commercials did Lance snap out of his daze. Slightly startled, he remembered that he still had an entire sandwich to eat and quickly began wolfing it down. He had a tour to get ready for after all. Naturally, Lance felt slightly nauseous after practically inhaling his food that way. Even when his break ended and he left the room, the nausea hadn't disappeared yet. With his schedule for the day in the back of his mind, he staggered slightly on his way to the main hall. The entire way he mentally went through what he needed to do on the upcoming tour, just to make sure he had it down. He had only done a handful so far, so he was still a bit shaky with his script sometimes. But overall he usually did well, able to cover up mistakes on the fly. At least no one had complained so far and people left looking relatively happy and satisfied. His favourite part of the job besides actually caring about the animals was probably seeing little children glued to the glass of the tanks as they watched the many different sea creatures peacefully floating in the water. To him it was a delightful sight because he used to be that kid, the one who would get 'lost' on school trips because he was too distracted by the friendly looking turtles and eye-catching clownfish swimming around in front of him. It made him remember what drew him to the sea, to these creatures. It made him realise what he had wanted to do in life.

Having been walking around on autopilot, Lance soon found himself near the large ocean tank. His movements were well practiced and automatic as he changed into the diving gear. Soon enough, his supervisor and another intern showed up. Lance could feel his supervisor's eyes watching his every move as he dove into the tank and began cleaning it. The first few times he had done this had been both scary and exhilarating. Now that he had gotten used to the dozens and dozens of fish surrounding him and sometimes even nipping at him whenever he cleaned, it was more peaceful and soothing than anything. It still warmed his heart any time one of the pufferfish would approach him expecting food, before swimming away huffily when he ignored them and went about cleaning. Each workday brought him moments like that; moments that made him endlessly grateful to his college advisor that had urged him to do an internship for a semester instead of dropping out. Lance had made the decision somewhat last minute, with his withdrawal already being processed and the termination of his enrolment imminent. It had taken sending out applications to every aquarium in a reachable radius for him to find an internship, but he had made it. And now, being here, each day gave him more reasons to try and pursue marine biology after all.

Originally, he hadn't known what he would even do with the degree once he had it. He had enjoyed writing in high school, so going into journalism had seemed like a natural choice. Meanwhile marine biology had seemed interesting, but far too daunting at the same time. Of course, travelling the world and researching marine life around the globe had been something he had only ever dared to dream of. But now that he was actually working directly with the same creatures he had only ever admired from afar, he felt silly for not realising his true calling sooner. All he really needed in life was getting to play with these gluttonous puffer fish and throwing smelly chunks of fish into shark tanks during feeding time. That was what made him happy.

Once Lance decided the tank was clean enough, he swam back to the surface. Climbing out with the help of his supervisor, he could feel all the excited energy coursing through his body. Even though he had already been working since early morning, he didn't feel tired in the least.

"It's time for the tour soon," his supervisor reminded him, before saying a few words to the other intern and then leaving.

Lance could only nod because, before he ever had the chance to say anything, she was gone again. Smiling to himself, he began going through his script for the tour one more time and quickly changed into his regular work uniform. As he headed out, he began mumbling the standard greeting to himself, weaving through guests on his way to the entrance. Suddenly, he felt something vibrate in his pocket and remembered that he hadn't put his phone in his locker after his break. Slightly panicked, he glanced around to see if any of his co-workers were around, then quickly took a peak at his phone. There was a text from Hunk simply saying _"Sorry!"_ with a distressed emoji next to it. Frowning as he racked his brain trying to figure out what Hunk could possibly be apologising for, Lance then quickly hid his phone in his pocket again. Shrugging, he decided to simply ask Hunk about it later.

Continuing on his way, the occasional artfully lit tank still caught Lance's eyes and tempted him to stop and watch whatever was inside, but he steadfastly continued on his way instead. Once he got near the entrance, he could already tell what his tour group was going to be: an elementary school class. Before he could even see them, he could hear excited high-pitched chattering and giggling. A smile began creeping onto his face before he even saw the children. And when he did, he broke out into an actual delighted grin. As unruly and chaotic as a whole class of children could be, they were incredibly entertaining as well. Most of them would be seeing the many sea creatures in the aquarium for the first time in their lives. Every single tank would be a new and exciting experience to them. It always warmed Lance's heart to be able to see that happening.

The second one of the teachers noticed Lance approaching, she came his way and began chatting him up. She seemed like a worrier, so Lance tried his best to brief her on what the tour would consist of exactly. Once she seemed satisfied, he turned his attention to the tour group. Although the children made up most of the group, he could also spot one or two families and various other guests mixed in. After getting a quick glance at everyone, Lance began rattling off his greeting, cracking a joke here and there and relishing in the sound of the children laughing in response. He briefly explained the structure of the tour, then began joyfully leading the pack towards the freshwater gallery. From there things went by without a hitch, the script rolling off his tongue so smoothly, it didn't seem like a script at all. Lance made sure to account for the children taking longer to look at things compared to older groups and tried to simplify his explanations accordingly. The teachers were doing an okay job keeping everyone in line and making sure no one got lost. The stingrays especially seemed to fascinate the children, gracefully floating through the water as though it was air. A few of them had to be practically pried away from the jellyfish tank that was lit by by bright pink neon lights. Overall, although he was working, Lance was having a lot of fun.

He almost didn't want to end the tour, but when the group arrived at the penguin exhibit, Lance had to finally say his good-byes. He still had a lot of cleaning left to do after all. When the teachers came up to him and thanked him for the informative tour, some of the children echoed them and thanked him as well. Lance's face was beginning to hurt a little from grinning so much. Once the class turned their backs on him and the families left as well, Lance was finally able to relax again. As fun as tours were, they also left him quite drained. He would have loved to have another lunch break right about now, but instead the only thing waiting for him were fishy-smelling dishes that desperately needed to be washed.

Just as Lance made for a staff only door so he could get to the kitchen, something gripped his arm and began pulling him away. In the semi-darkness of the aquarium, he could only make out the vague outlines of the person that had grabbed him, face hidden by the hood of a dark jacket. Occasionally, neon-coloured lights from the various tanks would hit the figure and make their outlines briefly visible. When Lance finally regained some composure and began struggling, the grip around his arm only tightened. Just as he was about to yell, he was pushed into the space behind one of the big reef aquarium exhibits, now quite some distance away from the guests and other people in general. Lance ended up with his back against a hard surface and a warm body pressing into him from the front. He barely had room to move, breath hitching slightly. Blood suddenly rushing with endorphins, Lance reached up towards the stranger, before carefully pulling down the hood covering their face.

Even in the feint shimmering aquamarine light coming from the fish tank, Lance could clearly make out the familiar hauntingly dark eyes staring back at him. "I kinda have to work, you know." He tried to sound unbothered and aloof, but his voice came out husky instead.

A smirk. "If anyone asks, just tell them your boyfriend wanted to see you and is too busy to see you any other time."

"It doesn't work like that, Keith." Even Lance himself wasn't quite sure how he meant those words. Was it referring to the shoddy excuse or the boyfriend part? "How do you even know I work here?"

"I have my sources," Keith simply said, his smirk widening slightly. It was almost maddening how attractive he was even though he had the smuggest look on his face.

Before he could even feel annoyed, Lance suddenly remembered the text he had gotten earlier. "Hunk," he murmured to himself. Even when he sighed in defeat, he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle immediately after. With Keith suddenly right in front of him, it almost seemed like they had never been apart at all. They were falling right back into their old patterns, going back to what they knew like nothing had ever happened. It was comforting, in a way. Lance then noticed how Keith was even closer than before. "You're not bombing your interviews anymore." He could now feel Keith's warm breath on him, it softly fanning over him with each exhale. "What changed?"

The smug look melted away slightly and made room for something much more earnest. "I guess I had something to prove to someone," Keith said with a smile, voice quiet. "When are you gonna write a new article? If you don't publish anything, I can't play my drinking game where I take a shot every time I find a typo."

"Oh, you bitch." Even though he said it with a certain bite, Lance couldn't find it in himself to be truly annoyed. Not with Keith close enough he could probably count the individual eyelashes on his lids. "I wanna write, I just don't know what about. I don't have time to keep up with what people are doing."

That seemed to please Keith for some reason. "Then can I suggest the headline for your big comeback article?"

Unsure where this was going, Lance simply shrugged, suddenly hyper-aware of the massive fish tank he was standing against and how cool it felt against his near feverishly hot skin. "Sure."

Keith came ever closer, their bodies beginning to meld together. "How about… _Keith and secret lover spotted kissing passionately in aquarium_? I think that has a nice ring to it."

Lance's thoughts grew muddled, eyes suddenly fixated on Keith's lips. "Yeah… sounds nice." Slowly, he reached up to grasp on to the sleeves of Keith's jacket. "How long until I can add an update about the secret lover's identity?"

"Maybe half a day," Keith immediately whispered. "You know I'm bad at waiting."

Lance couldn't even get a reply out, only able to make an unintelligible noise because in that moment, their lips finally met. Keith was suddenly all around him, surrounding him, enveloping him. Each one of Keith's touches, no matter how small, sent pleasant shivers through his body. He could feel Keith's hands briefly stroking over his face, before skimming down his arms and coming to rest at the small of his back. After months of not seeing him, suddenly being so close to him almost drove Lance mad with want. It seemed like no matter how much they touched, it was never enough. Wanting more, _needing_ more, Lance wound his hands into Keith's hair and moaned into his lips. The rest of the world ceased to exist, all its sounds going silent – the humming of machinery, the peaceful rippling of water, the aquarium guests marvelling at the many exhibits – all silent.

Then Keith suddenly groaned into the kiss. It lit a fire in Lance's chest that only made his heart race even faster, especially when Keith pulled away to stare at him for a moment, as though taking in the panting, dishevelled mess he had created. One of Keith's warm hands slid behind Lance's neck, then he kissed him again, this time much gentler. It was the kind of kiss that made Lance's knees feel weak and his head muddled. The hands he had buried in Keith's hair slowly slid down to his shoulders, before Lance wrapped his arms around his neck to pull him even closer.

A sudden loud thunk made them both jump and break the kiss. A catfish had swum into the glass right behind Lance's head. "That scared the hell out of me," Lance said, voice barely above a whisper. He still had his arms around Keith, so when he turned his head back around, their faces were impossibly close again. He could see the light flush across Keith's face, the desire burning in his eyes. Instantly, Lance felt hungry for more, but remembered something important. "Didn't I tell you I need to work?"

Keith had been in the process of leaning in for more, but was halted by Lance's words. "I'm technically supposed to be working right now too." Seeing the question in Lance's gaze, he let out a small annoyed sigh, eyes shying away from Lance's as he finally took a step away from him. "I'm supposed to go to a movie premiere next week, but management wants me to take a date with me. Usually I can talk my way out of it, but with everything that happened, I guess they want me to prove that I'm stable enough to be dating." He briefly glanced at Lance, before his gaze drifted away again. "I'm supposed to be in a meeting right now, picking a date."

"Why aren't you?"

Keith seemed a little taken aback by the sudden, direct question. "I… wanted to see you. I couldn't wait anymore."

Hearing that, Lance couldn't fault Keith at all. He also had been in the process of aching to see Keith more and more with each passing day. But even if he had wanted to, he probably still wouldn't have been able to. That was simply the nature of their relationship. Keith was so impossibly out of reach, it only made Lance want to hold on to him even more.

"Are you going back to college?" Keith asked out of the blue.

For a moment, Lance searched Keith's face to perhaps figure out what his intentions were. "Yeah, probably."

"Then you're not a mess anymore?"

Beginning to understand, Lance shook his head. "You're not either?"

Keith grinned and worried his lips momentarily, before nodding, "Yeah…"

Unable to hide his glee, Lance let his gaze wander over Keith's face, trying to memorise every inch of it just in case he wouldn't see him again for another couple weeks. Unconsciously, he reached up to carefully trace his fingertips over the scuffs and scratches on Keith's jaw and neck still left from the accident. They were unnoticeable enough that they weren't visible on TV, but in person and without makeup to cover them, they stood out starkly against his pale skin. In his daze, he didn't notice Keith's gaze growing hooded under his ministrations. Only when Keith leaned in for another kiss did he snap out of his daze. To his mild frustration, Keith kept pulling away and planting brief kiss after brief kiss on him, as though he was _trying_ to drive Lance insane. Just when Lance was about to lock his arms around his neck again so he couldn't pull away anymore, Keith spoke up.

"Be my date for the premiere."

Stunned, Lance's eyes shot open and he found Keith staring back at him with earnest eyes. "Wh-What?"

For a moment, Keith distracted himself by running his fingers through Lance's hair, which had grown out a little since he had last seen him. "My schedule's packed for the next six weeks or so and I don't think I can take not seeing you that long right after meeting again. So I'll just have to take you with me wherever I can."

Realisation finally dawned on Lance and immediately, a thousand different thoughts were running through his mind. His stomach dropped and the air suddenly seemed too thin to breathe. Keith actually wanted to go public with their relationship? This wasn't meaningless flirty banter anymore, but reality suddenly kicking in. "But…" Speechless and unable to process his own chaotic thoughts, Lance began imagining everything that could happen; especially everything that could go wrong. He knew firsthand how unkind the media could be. Journalists who were in the business of celebrity news, himself included, were like vultures just waiting for anything unfortunate to happen so they could be the first to report on it. If Keith showed up to a big red carpet event with a guy as a date, the headlines would be flying out to the world before he even got to the end of that red carpet. With his mind circling around nothing but thoughts like that, Lance jumped a little when Keith suddenly grasped his hand between both of his, bringing it up to his own chest. Lance's chest clenched a little when he could very subtly feel how much Keith's heart was racing.

"You're my boyfriend," Keith said quietly. "Right?"

Feeling his own heart pounding rapidly in his chest, Lance immediately had the impulse to run away. This was the exact question he had dreaded for months, the words he had not wanted to think about, much less hear straight out of Keith's mouth. But looking at Keith now, fear so clearly plastered over his face, his hands cold and clammy from nervousness, Lance all of a sudden saw him truly as _just_ Keith. Not the pop-star that sold millions of albums, not the rising actor who was only just beginning to break into the film industry, not the insanely rich celebrity living in a mansion, but Keith as he truly was: an impulsive and sometimes childish twenty-something that liked old video games and staying at home by himself with leftover cold pizza and an assortment of laughably bad movies. His fashion sense was questionable and with his constant jabs he was infuriating to be around most of the time. Sometimes he was incredibly blunt and open about his feelings, but other times he hid them so well, he was impossible to read.

But Lance had grown to love all of that about Keith. He had gotten to know him, who he was beneath the layers and layers of media coverage and PR talk. Now he could confidently say that he knew and understood Keith. Lance finally realised in this exact moment that all the separate images of Keith he had always harboured in his mind had merged and formed a complete picture long ago; a picture Lance simply had not been ready to accept before. Yes, Keith was fundamentally different from him; their lifestyles couldn't be any more opposite. But at the end of the day, did that really matter? Keith didn't treat him any different, so why should Lance?

"I am," Lance finally answered. "I'm your boyfriend." His heart skipped a little when he felt how Keith was nervously clenching his hand as a smile formed on his face. "You better buy me a suit for that premiere. I only have enough money left this month to pay rent and buy groceries."

Keith chuckled at that and finally let go of Lance's hand. "Sure. Just make sure not to embarrass me."

Lance immediately punched him in the arm. "Shut up, you were the one who invited me! You have no right to complain about anything I do."

"Can I take back my invitation?"

"Too late, shit-head." Comfortable now that they were back to their usual bantering, Lance suddenly became aware again of where he was and the sound of people drifted back to him. "Oh shit," he gasped, suddenly sprinting away from Keith. "Sorry, gotta get back to work!" Catching the split second in which dejection flashed over Keith's face, he turned on the spot and ran back to plant a quick kiss on his lips. "Call me," he whispered.

"I will."

Nodding, Lance ran off again, leaving behind a now much happier looking Keith. Even with the prospect of his supervisor being furious at him over disappearing for this long without notice, Lance couldn't help but feel ecstatic and more alive than he had in weeks. It felt as though a weight that had been pushing him down for a long time was gone, leaving him light-footed and optimistic for the future.

Things finally felt right.

* * *

 

Lance jumped a little when a small knock sounded at the door of his dressing room, jolting him out of his deep train of thought in which he had been contemplating how he had ended up in a store with suit ties that cost more than an entire month of his rent.

"You done yet?" came Keith's slightly exasperated voice. The guy had zero patience.

"Don't rush me!" Lance snapped back, still panicking over moving at all for fear of messing up these fancy clothes he was trying out. "I've never done this before, okay! This is stressful! How can you be so calm! I'm freaking out here, you dick! I–" Suddenly, the door swung open and the next second, Keith stood in front of him in all his suited up glory. His fitting was already done, but this was the first time Lance actually saw him in his suit for the premiere. Keith was in a maroon two button suit that hugged his shape perfectly. It accentuated his shoulders, tapering nicely around his slim waist. The black lapels of his jacket were decorated with a single red line, which framed the black dress shirt he was wearing underneath. Even the fabric itself looked luxurious and expensive, with a subtle pattern to it that was only really visible when standing this close. "Shit, you look hot." Lance immediately slapped a hand over his dumb mouth, embarrassed that he had let that slip out. His face grew hot when Keith merely smirked knowingly, directing those devilishly dark eyes at him.

"Why are you freaking out?" he asked Lance calmly, stepping closer to slightly adjust the dress shirt he was wearing. For all Lance knew, it was merely an excuse so Keith could touch him.

"I just…" The words got stuck in Lance's throat. His gaze lowered as Keith's warm hands came to rest on his shoulders, squeezing them lightly. As bad as their actual out loud verbal communication was sometimes, they did have their moments where they could communicate perfectly without saying a word. Lance could tell that Keith had picked up on his anxiety and was making an effort to alleviate some of it. In a way, he appreciated it. "I don't feel like I belong here," Lance finally admitted quietly. "I don't know what to do or how to act. You're so used to all this, to strangers measuring you, to wearing clothes that I probably could never afford even if I worked and saved up money for a year. It's… a lot." A sigh left him just as Keith gently pulled him close enough to place a small kiss on his forehead.

"You know, I wouldn't be here either if Shiro didn't force me to."

"No shit," Lance instantly murmured, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. "Without him, you'd probably show up to that premiere in a neon track suit and greasy hair or some shit." When he only received silence in return, he could almost tell what was going on in Keith's mind. "Don't even think about it, you lunatic."

"I don't even like events like this to begin with," Keith immediately whined. He did have a history of showing up to public events in questionable outfits. Even with Shiro's wrangling, Keith seemed hellbent on making it clear when he did not like being somewhere. Whether that be by breaking the dress code or by staring blankly at reporters that asked him any questions, not saying a word. Granted, he was beginning to mellow out a little lately.

Lance let out another sigh when, like a petulant child, Keith buried his face in his shoulder. "If you hate it so much, why are you suddenly making such an effort to show up in a nice suit?"

"Cause you're going with me."

Stunned by the immediate answer, Lance could feel heat shooting into his face again. Keith could say the most embarrassing and cheesy things with a straight face and so much confidence that it always rendered Lance speechless. Instead of answering, he hugged Keith. Mostly to keep him from lifting his head and seeing the expression on Lance's face. Keith didn't need any more reasons to be so smug. Without a word, Keith returned the hug, his breath fanning over Lance's neck and ear.

"Hey, you guys!" another voice suddenly chimed in from the outside. "You two better not be doing the nasty in there. Keith, we can't get banned from another tailor. There aren't many left that haven't kicked us out."

An annoyed groan left Keith as he finally separated from Lance and headed out. "Calm down, Shiro. We're not doing anything. I was just checking on him." He left the dressing room, but not without pressing a last quick kiss on Lance's lips.

That left Lance by himself again, now feeling much lighter. Some of the tension in his body was seeping away, replaced with the almost unbearable yearning to have Keith back in this dressing room immediately. But alas, they were not here for a date. Technically. And so Lance began straightening out his dress shirt and tried his hardest to look less clueless than he really was. He could hear Shiro chatting with the tailor, Keith probably off somewhere busying himself with his phone and radiating fuck-off vibes. Gulping, Lance took a deep breath, before finally stepping out.

He was immediately greeted by Shiro, Keith and the tailor all looking him up and down, the tailor swiftly moving towards him. Before Lance could even get a word out, the short, grey-headed man was tugging at his shirt, his collar, checking the fit of his pants, seemingly mentally going through a checklist, before nodding to himself and striding towards some kind of back room.

Once the man was gone, Shiro shot Lance an apologetic look. "Excuse him," Shiro said quietly. "He sometimes forgets to talk to people once he gets into his work. Don't worry, you're almost done."

Lance simply nodded with a half smile and tried to relax. He briefly met Keith's eyes and saw him mockingly wink at him, to which Lance replied to with a deadpan frown. He honestly did not understand how he had ended up here, with _Keith_. Just as he was questioning all his life decisions, the tailor rushed back into the room with a jacket laid over his arm. At a glance, Lance could tell it perfectly matched what Keith was wearing, the muted midnight blue tone of it standing out against the many neutral-toned clothes that were otherwise displayed around the room.

"The sleeves may need more adjusting, but otherwise this should fit you nicely," the tailor said, holding up the jacket for Lance to slip into.

Right away, Lance was stunned seeing the lining of the jacket. It looked like the silkiest fabric he had ever laid eyes on, its intricate pattern shimmering beautifully when the light hit it just right. Biting at his lip nervously for a moment, Lance finally let the tailor put the jacket on him. He could feel Keith watching his every movement, eyes roaming over his entire body. Speaking of the devil, Keith then stood up from where he had been sitting to stand beside Lance.

"You look good," he said quietly. Although there was a smirk on Keith's face and a certain smugness to the look in his eyes, he sounded genuine.

When Lance dared to finally look into a mirror, he finally saw what Keith was seeing: two drop dead gorgeous guys in matching suits that clearly belonged together. It was a testament to their relationship, a crystal clear statement. Lance did not look out of place at all next to Keith; in fact, they both complemented each other quite well. It was the first time Lance did not at all feel even remotely inferior next to Keith; far from it. 

"You ready?" Keith soon asked him with a badly concealed amused smile, snapping Lance out of his trance.

Lance only nodded, eyes still glued to his reflection in the mirror. He couldn't stop turning around and around to see himself from all possible angles, beginning to feel completely at home in this incredibly expensive tailored suit. Only when Keith took a hold of his hand to pull him away did he snap out of it, slightly annoyed that he didn't have more time to admire himself. "How long do we have?"

"Still a couple hours," Shiro replied, eyes glued to his smartphone. "We're lucky things worked out with the suits. Getting a suit that matches Keith's on this short of a notice was pretty risky, so I'm really glad it all worked out."

Having never been to any kind of big event like this – a movie premiere, no less –, Lance found himself both fascinated and overwhelmed by how much preparation went into such a thing. Granted, Shiro was shouldering most of the work, but Keith still had to jump through quite a few hoops just to walk over a red carpet, sit in a theatre for two hours and maybe talk a little to some reporters. There was meeting upon meeting upon meeting. For each one Lance had waited in a separate room for Keith to come out, his boyfriend looking worse for wear each time. Evidently, sitting with both staff _and_ executives for an extended period of time was incredibly draining to the pop-star. And now that the actual premiere was mere hours away, Lance could feel his nerves beginning to fry. Even with all this work, he still did not at all feel prepared for what was going to happen. Shiro had told him that on the red carpet he really didn't need to do anything besides stand next to Keith and let him answer questions. As simple as that sounded, Lance dreaded the possibility of anyone recognising him from his rather recent brush with the media. Surely, someone would recognise him and ask that one dreaded question: how had Lance gone from writing nasty articles about Keith to dating him?

"Lance?"

Snapping out of his distressed daze, Lance's eyes focused on Keith standing before him and looking at him with curious eyes. "What?"

"Your suit. Is it okay? If it needs to be adjusted, it needs to happen _now_."

"Oh…" Still slightly out of it, it took Lance a moment to really inspect his new suit. "No… it's fine. I'm just glad we still got one this close to the premiere."

Keith spent a moment carefully looking Lance up and down, occasionally giving an approving nod. "No kidding. Most tailors basically told us to fuck off."

Lance chuckled a little at that, amused by how nonchalant Keith was about it. He seemed so unbothered by anything negative that was ever thrown his way, it was honestly remarkable. "Thanks. For doing this."

"You mean buying you a suit?" Keith questioned, eyebrows set in a confused frown. "It's really not a big deal. I don't spend that much of my money, so it's nice getting other people stuff once in a while."

"No, I mean… in general." Lance watched Keith finally parting from the sight of him in a suit to instead meet his eyes with a quizzical look. "For the longest time I thought being at your side meant just wasting away in your shadow. But… now you're dragging me out in front of stage lights and camera flashes. I might regret all of this later, but for now it makes me really happy."

Despite himself, Keith couldn't stop his expression from softening, warmth entering his gaze. He gently grasped Lance's head to pull him in for a small peck, before smirking at him. "You're way too loud and annoying for anyone to overshadow you, dumbass."

Immediately, Lance's expression morphed into one of exasperation. "Can you not be a dick for like… thirty seconds?"

"Want me to remind you how much that suit you're wearing costs?"

"Wow, Keith, have I mentioned how radiant you look today?" Lance immediately replied, tone suddenly sweet and full of mocking flattery as he took a hold of Keith's hands to hold them gently. "You're such a catch. Sometimes I can't believe we're actually dating."

"Neither can I," Keith shot back dryly, but with a badly concealed smile. "Come on, let's get to the car. We still need to see my stylists."

Lance wanted to ask why they still needed to see stylists when they already had suits they looked bomb in, but figured that a lot more went into appearing on a red carpet than simply wearing a nice suit. Although Keith tried coaxing him into changing out of their suits in the same dressing room, Lance knew exactly what that would lead to, so he made it a point to pick a dressing room at the other side of the room. At least one of them needed to not be a complete horn dog, otherwise they wouldn't get anything done. By the time he came out, Keith was long done. On the way out he shot Lance an offended little glare, which was promptly ignored. Shiro had already gone outside and was on the phone when they got there. He simply motioned for them to get into the car, looking a little exhausted as he argued with someone on the phone.

"Who's he talking to?" Lance asked, following Keith into the back of the car and still finding himself a little freaked out by the tinted windows.

"Probably my PR manager," Keith sighed, instantly slumping a little where he sat. "He keeps trying to push different dates on me and doesn't know I'm bringing someone already. Although I think he's starting to figure out what's going on."

Gulping, Lance could feel cold nervous sweat beading on his temples again as the car began moving. He sat like that for a while, silent, contemplating if he should even bring it up. He had not slept well for the past couple days and the exhaustion was starting to catch up to him, making his thoughts even more muddled and chaotic. "Are you… really gonna be all right? Isn't this gonna… you know…"

Keith stared at Lance for a while, long enough that Shiro was eventually on the phone with someone else entirely. His gaze was calm, showing no sign of trepidation or doubt. He genuinely looked as unbothered as one could possibly be. "Lance, there's almost nothing I could do to ruin my image even more than I already have. Showing up to a premiere with a guy falls pretty low on the list of scandalous things I've done. You of all people should know that."

"Yeah, but–" Lance was immediately silenced by Keith leaning towards him to pull him in for a kiss, robbing him of his breath and making him easily forget his worries. He could vaguely hear Shiro sighing like an exasperated dad from the front seat, but couldn't pay it any mind. Not with Keith burying his fingers in his hair like that, pulling him even closer. When they finally parted, Lance was left with a searing heat in his gut, one that made him want to drag Keith into some dark corner somewhere and do unspeakable things to him. Keith seemed to notice, because he simply smirked with a self-satisfied look in his eyes.

"Smug bastard," Lance quietly grumbled under his breath.

"We're gonna be there soon, you two," Shiro interjected, turning around in his seat to shoot a warning look at them both. "You better look presentable. Don't make Plaxum's job harder than it needs to be."

"Yeah, yeah," Keith mumbled, making it a point to distance himself a little from Lance so he could sort himself out a little.

Lance followed his example and soon enough, they arrived at a nondescript hotel. It looked expensive, but not terribly so. With everything that he had already been through with Keith in just a day, this wasn't nearly as terrifying as it would have been a few months ago. Still, a uniformed stranger opening the car door for him caught him a little off guard. And from there, things went by in a bit of a blur. The pace suddenly seemed to pick up, Lance soon finding himself on a stylish couch in a hotel room and watching a pretty girl put makeup on Keith while another equally pretty girl messed around with his hair. Keith was still as relaxed and unbothered as ever, passing the time by playing a game on his phone. Lance cringed a little any time anything came near his boyfriend's eyeballs and couldn't understand how Keith wasn't freaking out at all. He seemed so used to it all, it was honestly astonishing.

He only noticed he had fallen asleep when Keith shook him awake, face mere inches away from his. "Ha… wha…?" he mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. He almost felt like going right back to sleep, especially with Keith now gently stroking his hair.

"It's your turn," he said quietly, hand wandering towards Lance's face to settle on his jaw.

Waking up somewhat, Lance actually got a good look at Keith and found himself totally breathless. Keith always looked good. He could roll out of bed in the morning with terrible bed hair, wearing an angry frown over having to get up so early, and Lance would still find him irresistible. But looking at him now, hair expertly styled into a low fluffy ponytail and his dark eyes accentuated with a subtle amount of eyeshadow, Lance was mesmerised. "Whoa…" Totally awake now, Lance abruptly sat up to be able to get a better look at his boyfriend, eyes almost bugging out of his head. "What did they do to you? You look hot as fuck!"

A little stumped by Lance's loud and unusually firm words, Keith grew a bit meek. "N-Nothing much. Just… makeup, I dunno." He quickly retreated and sat down on the couch that stood opposite to the one Lance was on. "Hurry up already," he barked, crossing his arms. "We don't have all day."

Grinning to himself, Lance blew a kiss at Keith, whose frown instantly deepened even more. He was then introduced to Plaxum and Florona, the stylists, and quickly ushered onto a chair. There, he sat for what felt like hours, but was probably no more than thirty minutes. Time went by much faster once he got to know the two and was able to hold a conversation with them. Plaxum especially kept commenting on how flawless his skin was, which lead to an entire conversation about skin care and what a surprising amount of time Lance spent on it. Eventually, the two deemed Lance ready and he was able to look at himself in the mirror. What he found was his own face, except… better. He was amazed at how a bit of makeup could change him this much. He looked like a version of himself that was enhanced in such a way it probably wasn't noticeable to most people, but still easily elevated him from a ten to a solid seventeen.

After thanking Plaxum and Florona, Lance jumped out of his chair to rush towards Keith. He chuckled a little when he found him napping much like he had earlier, except he was sleeping while sitting upright, arms crossed. It took some shaking and coaxing, but eventually Keith woke up mumbling annoyed gibberish. He blearily opened his eyes, which immediately met Lance's, who was sitting next to him now. Silent at first, he studied his boyfriend's face, before breaking out into a small smile. "You look great."

Seeing the fondness in Keith's eyes, Lance suddenly understood more than ever that whatever way he felt seeing his boyfriend all dolled up and in fancy clothes, Keith felt the same way about him. As inadequate as Lance sometimes felt next to him, Keith clearly did not see him that way. "Having an international pop-star and millionaire look at me like that is honestly so good for my ego. Keep doing it, please."

Keith didn't reply immediately, smile fading a little. "How long do I have to look at you until you see yourself the way I see you?"

Caught off guard by the question, Lance's gaze dropped to his lap, where Keith's hand slowly took hold of his. "I think I'm starting to see it," he answered quietly, watching as Keith laced their fingers together. "It's hard not to with all of… _this_." The simple fact that someone like Keith, someone who could date models and famous actors if he wanted to, was choosing Lance over anybody else made his self-confidence absolutely skyrocket. Every time he caught Keith staring, every time Lance saw warmth enter his eyes upon their gazes meeting, every time they kissed, Lance was blown away by the knowledge that Keith only wanted _him_. Not a model, not an actor or fellow singer. Just Lance.

A buzzing noise interrupted their little moment and with an annoyed groan, Keith pulled his phone from his pocket. A frown formed on his face the moment he looked at the screen. "My PR guy again. I'm guessing he didn't get anywhere with Shiro, so now he's calling me directly."

Lance watched with some trepidation as Keith simply rejected the call, then shoved the phone back into his pocket again. "You don't have to do all of this, you know," Lance said quietly. He could feel Keith's hand squeezing his and could somewhat tell what he was thinking. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? You don't have to prove anything, especially not to me."

Keith gave Lance's hand another unconscious squeeze, before a lop-sided smile appeared on his face. "I'm doing this for myself as much as I'm doing it for you. I just don't want to sneak around anymore. It's annoying and exhausting."

Staring at the content look on Keith's face, Lance still was not convinced. He knew there was no reasoning with Keith. He was someone that was rash and easily riled up, passionate and completely bull-headed once he made a decision. "How many people actually know you're doing this?"

A contemplative look briefly passed over Keith's face. "Aside from the people we met today… uh… hm…" He looked deep in thought for only a moment. "No one."

"Keith!"

Cutting Lance off by leaning in close enough he could kiss him, Keith broke out into an odd mix of a smirk and a frown, eyes stormy like a night sky rumbling with thunder. "I'm sick of other people controlling my life, Lance. I can't even put into words how defeating it is when you realise that you haven't had any agency of your own in years and that there's barely anything you can do without clearing it with other people first. My clothes were chosen for me, my house was chosen for me and… my music was chosen for me." His face fell a little, a sombre look entering his eyes. "I mean it when I say this is also for me," he continued in a soft tone, so unlike his usual confident bravado. "I know you're nervous. I am too. But… that's why I need you with me. You're the first thing in years that I've chosen for myself. And I'm not letting anyone take you from me."

At a loss for words, Lance could only stare at his boyfriend owlishly as he reached up to cup his face and leaned in for another kiss. This one was quick and sweet, a mere touching of warm lips that easily left Lance hungry for more. If not for the other people still in the room with them, he probably would have given in to that voice telling him to go in for more. He wasn't used to Keith being so open about his feelings. The rawness of it all left him completely speechless, unable to shape real thoughts, let alone muster up some kind of response.

"I can still call all of this off," Keith suddenly whispered, leaning back a little so he could look into Lance's eyes. "If you really don't want to, I can just go by myself. Wouldn't be the first time."

Seeing Keith turn his head away to stare down at the floor, Lance instinctively reached up to shift his face forward again. He felt tempted to kiss those lips, but made an effort to actually use his brain instead of letting his lust speak for him. "Don't worry, I'm going. Knowing you, you'd just make some poor reporter cry without me there."

Looking surprised at first, Keith soon broke out into another smile. He made to kiss Lance again, gaze heated, but was interrupted.

"Keith, Lance, we gotta go," Shiro warned them with exasperation written all over his face. "Get dressed." He didn't comment on the fact that Keith seemed intent on ruining all of Plaxum and Florona's work by making out with Lance without restraint. Instead, Shiro simply stared at the two until they finally got up from the couch and headed for the bathroom, stern eyes following their every movement. "One at a time," he grumbled when Keith tried pulling Lance into the bathroom with him. Keith tried glaring to make his frustration clear, but ultimately gave in to Shiro's unwavering gaze and retreated into the bathroom. Alone.

Lance had to suppress laughter that wanted to bubble up when he caught Keith's annoyed pout on his way in. He looked like a kid upset over having his favourite toy taken away. He had to resist the urge to mock Keith through the now closed door, lest he would risk putting him in an even worse mood. Out of the corner of his eyes, he then saw Shiro motioning for him to come over. Unsure of what was going on, Lance approached him quietly, understanding that Keith wasn't supposed to hear. "What's up?"

Shiro's eyes briefly jumped to the closed bathroom door, before settling on Lance again. "It could be a while before I see you again, so I figured I should tell you now, but… well… thank you. For everything. I know you probably don't see it that way, but you really saved Keith. This past year was… tough. I'm glad he had you to help him through it all. I don't think you know just how much you've helped him."

Lance's first instinct was to completely deny everything Shiro was saying, incapable of even remotely accepting any of it. But then he remembered Keith's earlier words, the sombreness in his eyes. It forced Lance to see things from his perspective as well as from Shiro's. In their eyes, he truly had helped Keith. "I never told Keith this… and you better not tell him this either, but… seeing Keith succeed the way he did always pushed me to try harder. Any time I thought I couldn't do something, I just had to imagine his dumb, arrogant face and it would drive me to try as hard as I could. Mostly out of spite, but it was still something. I don't know if I would've even considered studying marine biology if not for him. So, you know… Keith has been helping me in a way since high school, so it's only fair I help him in return."

A big, happy smile had formed on Shiro's face, which only widened when he saw the slight red flush slowly spreading across Lance's face. "My lips are sealed," he eventually said with a quiet laugh. "But maybe you should tell Keith that after all. I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

"And inflate his ego even more? No thanks." As much as Lance hated the idea of it, he knew he would probably tell Keith anyway at some point down the line. It wasn't so much a question of _if_ and more a question of _when_. "Keith mentioned you're writing a song for him?"

"Oh… yeah, I am," Shiro replied sheepishly. "He finally asked for one. I honestly thought he never would." His happy smile then shifted into something a little more sombre and fond. "I think this entire time he was still holding on to that dream of us on stage together. I'm not sure what changed, but I'm glad he's finally moving on."

Lance matched Shiro's happy and content smile, glad that things between Keith and Shiro finally seemed resolved. Before Lance could carry on his conversation with Shiro, Keith emerged from the bathroom, decked out fully in his maroon suit. The sight left Lance gulping and with an urge to pull Keith into a dark closet and stay there the rest of the night. He still couldn't get used to Keith looking like anything but a slob. In person, he had only ever seen him in dirty hoodies, ratty shirts and mismatched pants. Keith in a fitted suit should be outlawed. Lance could barely form a coherent thought looking at him.

"Your turn," Keith said flatly as he adjusted his cufflinks, casually looking like he had stepped straight out of a men's fashion magazine photo spread. He was too busy sorting out the little details of his suit to notice the bottomless hunger in Lance's eyes.

Before he could say or do anything stupid, Lance wordlessly rushed past Keith into the bathroom. There, his suit was neatly hung up for him on a hook on the wall, reminding him again how crazy this entire situation was. He admired the garment for a moment, before finally undressing and getting into the pants and dress shirt. Things went well for a while. At least until he got to the dreaded tie and realised he had no idea how to tie it. Hesitantly, he crept towards the bathroom door and opened it only far enough he could peak his face out. "Um… guys?" Plaxum and Florona were already gone, so only Keith and Shiro stared back him with curiosity. "Uh… the whole tie thing is messing me up. Can–" Before he could even finish his sentence, Keith had already jumped up from where he had been sitting next to Shiro on the couch.

"Keith," Shiro said in a warning tone, focusing a hard look on the pop-star. "We don't have a lot of time."

"Yeah, yeah," Keith simply replied.

A little flustered by Keith's eagerness, Lance was quiet when his boyfriend began silently tying his necktie for him. It was such a simple thing and yet Keith somehow managed to make it incredibly nerve-wracking. He would lean in closer than was strictly necessary, _accidentally_ brush his fingers over Lance's neck, sometimes his dark eyes would flick up for a moment to stare into Lance's. It all only served to make Lance even more wrecked than he already had been.

"Couple tips…" Keith suddenly spoke up as he put the finishing touches on Lance's tie and began sorting out his shirt collar. "Unbutton your jacket whenever you sit down or you'll ruin the shape." Once he deemed the tie and shirt good to go, he reached for the jacket and helped Lance get into it. "Also never button the bottom button. It's just there for style."

Lance's brain legitimately could not handle the dissonance of the actual fashion terrorist Keith telling him how to properly wear a suit. Something in his mind was not computing.

"There," Keith said as he buttoned Lance's jacket. "All done."

Throat dry, Lance had to swallow before he could even properly form words. "Th-Thanks." He immediately wanted to hit himself when he saw the satisfied smirk forming on Keith's face.

"All right, guys, time to head out," Shiro announced, already on his way out the door. "We still have a long drive ahead of us, so make sure you're all ready."

Hearing the words, a realisation suddenly dawned on Lance.

This was it. They were now only moments away from practically throwing Keith to the wolves. There were no more stops in between, nothing to distract them anymore. The next time they exited that car, it would be amidst flashing cameras and eager reporters.

True to Shiro's words, the ride ended up being quite long. It was silent for the most part, Shiro focused on his laptop, Keith busying himself with his phone and Lance too nervous to even begin to try and come off relaxed. He was a bundle of nerves and could not understand how neither Shiro or Keith looked at all affected. Granted, this wasn't their first red carpet event, so they probably knew what to expect. And yet, Keith never let go of Lance's hand, keeping their fingers interlocked the entire car ride. Once Lance noticed, he knew that Keith was just as nervous as he was, if not more so. It may not show outwardly, but Lance knew him well enough at this point to pick up on even small signs. In a way, it was comforting to know that Keith was not the superhuman he portrayed to the world. He was not bulletproof and, despite all his confidence, had moments of uncertainty and doubt like anyone else. The one placing himself in the proverbial media crosshairs was not Lance and yet this entire time it had been Keith comforting _him._

"It's gonna be fine," Lance suddenly whispered to Keith, leaning in closer to him. A smile broke out on his face when Keith finally looked up to meet his gaze, surprise in his eyes. "I'll be there the entire time. And I promise I won't say anything dumb."

A shaky sigh left Keith and it took him a moment to respond. There was a certain nervous tension that seemed to course through his entire body, swirling like poison. "Knowing you, the second you open your mouth, something dumb is gonna come out."

"Hey, I'm trying to be supportive, you dickhead!" Lance instantly discarded any thought of being subtle, volume now loud enough the driver and Shiro could easily hear. "Can you not be a snarky asshole for two seconds?"

Keith only laughed, staring at Lance with a happy smile. "But you're really hot when you're mad."

Sputtering, Lance could feel the heat rising to his face. "Sh-Shut up." It came out much softer than he had intended to, with no real bite in it. Face still burning, Lance's eyes then fell on his boyfriend, deciding he needed to take revenge for him using flirting as a weapon. He had to somehow wipe that dumb smirk off his face. And so he leaned in again, pulling Keith closer by his tie until he could whisper into his ear. "Are you an alien? Cause you just abducted my heart." He leaned back to marvel at the absolutely horrified look now forming on Keith's face, cheering to himself mentally when he saw an embarrassed blush spreading. The makeup may have been covering most of it, but the tips of his ears gave it away.

"Do you think I can get away with launching you out of this car?" Keith suddenly asked in a quiet, frigid voice, exasperation in his eyes. " _While_ it's still driving?"

"Do it," Lance challenged him. "That would give me incredible material to write about."

A small sigh left Keith as he crossed his arms. "Idiot."

Snickering, Lance pulled an unwilling Keith in so he could smooch him on the cheek. Even now, Keith had not let go of his hand. Despite the contact, Keith's hand was beginning to feel cold. Not only that, but he also looked a little pale, his skin an almost sickly pallor. "You okay?"

Keith looked back at his boyfriend with incredibly exhausted and hesitant eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "I will be."

Unconsciously squeezing his hand, Lance could only nod. This was a side of Keith the rest of the world would never get to see. As much as it pained Lance to see him like this, he also treasured these moments; these moments in which Keith fully broke out of the image he portrayed to the public and simply expressed his emotions authentically, without hiding them all beneath layers upon layers of snark and confidence. Sometimes it still felt like he didn't quite know anymore how to express himself normally, constantly putting up some kind of front to paint a very specific narrative of himself. And so seeing him open and vulnerable was both heart-breaking and reassuring.

"We're there," Shiro suddenly announced, turning around in his seat to give the two a quick once over. "It's already pretty crowded, so we won't have to drive around any longer. Get ready."

Confused, Lance sent a questioning look at Keith. "Why would we drive around more?"

"It's not really worth getting out of the car if no one's there, you know," Keith explained calmly, beginning to seem more collected. "It's pretty common to just drive around the block a couple times tillthe crowd is just right."

Nodding although he didn't quite grasp the concept, Lance unconsciously leaned closer to Keith. He could already hear the commotion outside, the chattering and general noise. Suddenly, his heart dropped to his stomach as he realised with a start what he had gotten himself into. He was dating an actual, legitimate, widely known celebrity and soon _everyone_ would know about it. His face would be plastered all over the place; in newspapers, social media, dumb clickbait articles akin to the ones he used to write himself. Although he kept telling himself he was ready for it, in truth, he really was not. How could he? How was he supposed to prepare for this?

Lance was torn from his panicked train of thought when Keith's head suddenly landed on his shoulder. Instinctively, he reached up to pat his boyfriend's head in what he hoped was a comforting manner, briefly wondering if this was going to mess up all the work Florona and Plaxum had done. "Scared?" he simply asked, eventually resting his head against Keith's and trying not to imagine the future. He could feel Keith nodding into his shoulder, causing a weak smile to spread on Lance's face.

"You?" Keith asked in return.

When he closed his eyes, Lance could almost see the dozens and dozens of cameras flashing, the people demanding answers and questioning everything about him. He knew what to expect and yet he did not feel prepared at all. "Terrified."

Suddenly, everything was happening. The car stopped and Shiro left. He was making his way to the back door. The noise and commotion outside grew deafeningly loud, almost unbearably so.

The weight on his shoulder left and Lance watched Keith's entire demeanour change next to him. He sat straighter, exuded no nervousness anymore and his expression became closed off. He became _Keith_. He suddenly turned towards Lance to kiss him another time, a mere quick peck, before the door finally opened.

Lance was momentarily blinded by the sunlight suddenly streaming in, before realising the light was not coming from the sun, but from camera flashes. He quickly followed Keith as he made to leave and was somewhat wobbly on his way out. But eventually, he was standing on an actual, real red carpet, looking equally as stunning as his boyfriend, who was already moving ahead without so much as acknowledging any of the desperate reporters yelling at him from the sides.

Suddenly, none of the noise and the lights flashing and the questions mattered anymore. Lance was walking next to Keith as his equal. Not his fling or just a guy that got lucky somehow, but someone that stood on the same ground as Keith. As different as their worlds were, their paths had lead them here, to this moment, where they were both confidently striding over a red carpet, both ignoring the barrage of questions and requests for official statements. Them being there together was statement enough in their eyes.

Throughout it all, Keith kept holding Lance's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done!! This was super, super late cause I was in Japan for two weeks (and China for two days). I took my computer along to post this chapter cause it was done like three weeks ago, but either the hotel wifi was fucky or I was too tired at the end of the day to sit down for two hours and edit everything. But now it's here!! Please let me know your thoughts! A lot of people were kinda bummed out by the last chapter, so I really hope this makes up for everything.
> 
> And in case you haven't noticed, I've put Oatmeal Cookies in a series. That's because I'm planning on continuing this story! I really wasn't planning to, but with the great response this story and universe got, I actually sat down and thought about what I would even write for a continuation – I've really gotten attached and it felt like a shame to just end things like this. And once I did, this flood of ideas just rushed into my head out of nowhere and now I have a doc with thousands of words just for _ideas_. I still don't have a coherent plot in mind, just little subplots and individual scenes I need to connect through some kind of overarching story. I'm open for any ideas or wishes! I don't usually take reader suggestions, but maybe someone can provide that last spark I need to get a full picture for this sequel. So far it's very chaotic, which is why it could take me a while to even start writing, let alone upload anything.
> 
> So rest assured, this story isn't over. It might take a while for the sequel to come out, but I'm definitely working on it. Subscribe to the series and you should get notified when I upload it.
> 
> That aside, thanks for reading until the end and being patient. I really appreciate all the comments and kudos. I have a lot of times where I don't feel motivated at all to write, but seeing how much people enjoy what I do always gives me a little boost. So thanks a lot and I hope this ending is somehow satisfactory.


End file.
